


Trials and Tribulations

by SaskiaK



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: Set after the end of Season 6 - James Gillies' trial approaches, but on the way to the court house Detective Murdoch is abducted. Can Gillies be behind it, even from behind bars?





	1. Overslept

"Murdoch!" Inspector Brackenreid called from the door to his office. "Get in here!"

Detective Murdoch looked up with an expression of surprise from the report he was reading. The inspector's shout, though loud, sounded less of abbrasiveness and more of simple concern. Something was obviously troubling him, but what?

"Murdoch!" He yelled again, with more impatience in his tone.

Rising from his desk, the detective headed smoothly yet fairly briskly towards Brackenreid's office.

"Sir?" He questioned as he knocked on the frame and waited in the doorway.  
"Come in, Murdoch," Brackenreid turned briefly away from the decanter he held. "And shut the door. Scotch?"  
"No, thank you," Murdoch waved a hand in polite dismissal. "What can I do for you, sir?"  
Brackenreid sighed heavily, as he turned back, scotch in hand. "Sit down Murdoch, I want to talk to you about tomorrow."  
"Tomorrow, sir?" Murdoch raised an eyebrow.  
"James Gillies' trial."  
"What of it, Inspector?" Murdoch replied calmly - too calmly in Brackenreid's opinion.  
"Well, it's personal, isn't it?"  
"Personal, sir?"  
"Don't act dumb, Murdoch," Brackenreid frowned. "He abducted you, tried to kill you, he framed Doctor Ogden for murder. How many more reasons do you need?"  
"Believe me, Inspector, I'm more than aware of what he did, but the evidence is sound, he will hang this time and I will be there to see it."  
"So you are angry?" Brackenreid nodded, satisfied. "It wouldn't hurt to show it."  
"To whom, sir?"  
"The jury, Murdoch! Good grief, man! You may have a unique mind for solving crimes, but at understanding people, you are a novice!"  
"Sir, I don't understand," Murdoch began. "The evidence will..."  
"Evidence, be damned, Murdoch! You have to show the jury that this man is evil! That he singled you out because you bested him... twice! That he has a personal vendetta, that he's dangerous!"  
"And for this, you need me to act, sir? Surely the film alone..."  
"If you get up on that stand and describe your ordeal like you're reading a report, the jury will doubt your word."  
"Sir! I have no desire to dress my testimony for the entertainment of the jury!"  
"He tried to kill Doctor Ogden, twice!"  
"I know that, sir!" Murdoch was on his feet, slapping his hand down on the desk.  
Brackenreid smiled, happy to have finally jarred loose some of his detective's pent up and long concealed emotion at the trauma he suffered.  
"Remember that feeling, Murdoch," Brackenreid nodded. "That toe rag hurt you in ways nobody else could. It won't hurt the case to show it. Let the jury see what an evil little bastard he is."  
"Sir," Murdoch lowered his eyes. "I'm not sure I..."

Brackenreid placed comforting hand on the detective's shoulder.

"I know," he sighed. "I know you prefer to maintain a professional stance, but in this case, you're not just the detective, you're the victim. The jury are honest, ordinary men and it wouldn't hurt to let them see that you are too."  
"I understand, sir," Murdoch's voice had dropped to half its normal volume. Clearly troubled by recent events, he was trying hard to maintain his composure.  
"What about Doctor Ogden?"  
"What about her, sir?" Murdoch replied his eyes still lowered and his voice hushed.  
"How is she faring?"  
"I believe she's doing well."  
"You believe?"  
"Yes, sir," Murdoch replied, growing ever more uncomfortable. "Sir, I have a lot of work, may I return to my office?"  
"Go home, Murdoch," Brackenreid shook his head with a resigned sigh. "Get a good night's sleep. Busy day tomorrow."  
"Maybe that would be best, sir," Murdoch nodded, grateful to escape the lecture. "I'll see you tomorrow at the court house."  
"Eight sharp. And Murdoch?" He added as the detective reached the doorway.  
"Sir?" He asked turning back to face the inspector.  
"Think about what I said."

Merely nodding his agreement, Murdoch headed back to his office in silence. Reaching for his hat, his expression showed that his thoughts were a long way from the station house.

"George?" He began in a lacklustre tone as he emerged at the door to his office once more.  
"Sir," the young constable replied, rising immediately to his feet.  
"I'm going home, George. I'll see you tomorrow at the court house."  
"Yes, sir," Crabtree replied with a moment's hesitation on his lips. "Sir, we will get him this time."  
"Thank you, George. I believe we will."

Murdoch headed for the main doors, his mind weighed down by a multitude of thoughts.

"I wish he did," Inspector Brackenreid remarked, approaching Crabtree's side as Murdoch walked past the front desk.  
"You wish he believed it?" Crabtree queried. "I suppose you're right, sir. This is the third time Gillies has faced very serious charges. But he can't hope to escape again this time, and sir, the evidence is from his own lips, surely he'll hang?"  
"Don't underestimate Gillies, Crabtree. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he hadn't planned in advance for this very scenario."  
"A scary thought, sir," Crabtree agreed.  
"And unfortunately a very likely one. Is there still a constable watching Doctor Ogden's home?"  
"Yes, sir. In fact there are two tonight. Nothing can happen, sir, she's quite safe."  
"Not until that bastard is swinging from a noose," Brackenreid replied with his tone a mixture of hatred and disgust.

*

"Gillies!" A gruff voice bellowed, raising little more than an eyebrow from the cell's occupant. "On your feet!"

Lightly swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, James Gillies rose to his feet, a superior smirk fixed on his lips.

"You've got nothing to smile about, Gillies," the prison guard scoffed. "Your trial starts tomorrow and you're as guilty as sin! You're going to hang."  
"Why, Penrose..."  
"Mr Penrose to you!"

Gillies' smile broadened and he aimed an otherwise cold, hard stare at the guard. His gaze almost seemed to focus on an area a few inches behind the guard's eyes - it was unnerving to say the least.

"Mr Penrose," Gillies repeated through gritted teeth. "I wouldn't suggest you place a wager. You're liable to lose. And that might not be all you lose."  
"Don't try to threaten me, Gillies."  
"Threaten?" He chuckled. "Why, Mr Penrose, it's no threat, I assure you. Now, do I have a visitor?"  
"If you don't believe you'll hang, why ask for a priest?"  
"I do believe that's my business, don't you?" Gillies cocked his head, almost trying to bait the guard. "But, of course, you're finished for the day, so I won't have the pleasure of your company again."  
"Don't be so cocky, Gillies, you'll be back here tomorrow."  
"No, Mr Penrose, you won't see me again; that, I can promise you. Now, the priest, if you will?"

*

A cold shiver ran down Dr Julia Ogden's back. It was a warm, almost stifling evening and yet the chill she felt was very real. It was almost as if she could feel something evil closing in on her and of course, there was. Tomorrow was the trial. She had to face the man who had almost caused her death on two occasions and had come oh so close to murdering Detective Murdoch. Even at the asylum she had never encountered anyone quite like James Gillies. He was a true psychopath who murdered on a whim; apparently without motive, because it served his purpose, or simply because he thought the idea interesting. He was possibly the most terrifyingly dangerous man she had ever encountered and, as strong as she was, she felt a very real fear of stepping into the court house and reliving her experience. The risk of breaking down in front of people, especially William, filled her with dread. She was a doctor, a strong, confident woman, but right now all she felt was afraid and alone. Somewhere, out there, William Murdoch would probably be thinking about her too and she cursed herself for keeping him at arms length since the death of her husband. She had so wanted to be free to marry her true love, but the circumstances of his death filled her with guilt. Added to that, the disgrace of being courted by a man while she was supposed to still be in mourning would ruin what respectability and reputation she retained. It infuriated her that she was held by such ridiculous restraints. She was free. Why couldn't she simply enjoy it? There was no such stigma attached to William, neither had there been any associated with Darcy, even though he had blatantly courted other women. They were technically both adulterers, true, but it seemed that only she was guilty. Now on the eve of the trial with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she wished that she had been more considerate of her own needs, and of William's too. She had scarcely explained her situation and had no real idea what he thought of their relationship now. It was a confusing time. Glancing over to the phone, it was time to rectify the situation.

"Operator? Police, Station House Four, please," she asked politely into the mouthpiece.  
"Putting you through, ma'am," came the leaden reply.  
"Station House Four," a more alert and cheery voice answered.  
"May I speak with Detective Murdoch, please?" She asked, her voice only faltering for a second.  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, he's gone home for the evening and I believe he's at the court house all day tomorrow. Is it urgent? Would you like to speak to someone else?"  
"No," Julia sighed her disappointment. "No, it's quite all right. Goodnight, constable."  
"Would you like to leave a message? I'll tell him you called, ma'am."  
"No, thank you. I'll be at the court house myself tomorrow, I'll speak to him then."  
"Right you are, ma'am. Goodnight!"

Replacing the earpiece on the cradle, Julia took a deep breath.

"We'll, you only have yourself to blame," she sighed, chastising herself.

*

The following morning dawned with an unusual haze that William Murdoch was having trouble clearing from his eyes. Despite everything he had managed to sleep surprisingly easily, tired even before finishing his dinner. Resting on top of his bed, still dressed, he had fallen into such a sound sleep that even his alarm had failed to rouse him. He was proud of his Seth Thomas small bedside alarm, always favouring the most recent technological advances, but today he had no time to consider its failure. Staring bleary-eyed at the hands, his heart plummeted when he saw them only ten minutes away from eight o'clock. He had never slept in. Not ever. But today, when he needed to be at the court house on time - today was the last day he could be late. Scrambling for a clean shirt, he hastily shaved, trying hard not to cut himself as the precious seconds ticked by. Finally racing from the room, he didn't even pause to ponder why Mrs Kitchen hadn't woken him with breakfast.

Pedalling as hard as he could, Detective William Murdoch was alternately fuming and fretting. This had never happened in his entire career, but it had happened today, of all days.The hot blazing sun bore down on him with a heat unusually stifling for so early in the morning, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. The record high temperatures had continued to steadily climb for almost two weeks until it was punishingly hot. Wearing his brown three piece wool suit was proving torturous and his once crisp white shirt clung to his back, already slick with sweat from both the sun and the hard ride.  
Why today? Why today, of all days?

He found himself piecing together his most profound of apologies as he clung on to the handlebars, wobbling in the saddle as the front tyre hit a small rut.  
He frequently had to appear in court to testify against the many murderers he apprehended, but today, for the first time ever - he was late. Even in his own mind it was unforgivable, but Judge Matthews would almost certainly find him in contempt and would inevitably be harsh toward him on the stand. In the judge's opinion, an unreliable detective made for a poor witness and he would almost certainly instruct the jury to consider that. He couldn't be late, he simply couldn't. They had all worked so hard, for a long time, frequently burning the midnight oil to bring Gillies to justice. He was not about to risk him going free on the whim of a cantankerous judge.

Pushing harder, Murdoch closed his eyes briefly as a sharp but gripping pain seized the inside of his right thigh. Fighting the cramp was difficult but necessary, but the sudden loss of concentration was to cost him dearly. He didn't even see what he had hit, but his bicycle jarred to a sudden stop, throwing him more than ten feet over the handlebars. With a cry of surprise, the shock of it barely had time to register and before he realised what had happened, he was hurtling to the ground, unable to stop his tumbling and rolling as he crashed to a grinding, jarring halt - bruised, tattered, sprawled and unconscious.  
One man dropped almost immediately at his side, loosening Murdoch's tie and unbuttoning his collar. A small crowd quickly gathered, but the first man at his side seemed unmoved by either the accident or the detective's dishevelled unconscious form. Discreetly reaching under his jacket, the man plucked the shield from Murdoch's waistcoat, suppressing a smile as another man shouted for an ambulance.

"I'm a doctor," he stated in an authoritative tone. "Don't bother calling for an ambulance. My carriage is over there, outside the bank. I can take him directly to the hospital, please someone help me with him."

Amongst the gathered men and women, two men, unshaven and each wearing dark shirts and caps stepped closer.

"We'll help, if you like?" One of the men began. "What do we do? We don't want to risk hurting him."  
"He'll be fine, just take his arms and legs," he gave a thoughtful pause before continuing. "Support his back and head, if you can. Lie him on the floor of the carriage, it'll be easier on him if he is injured."  
"Yes, sir," the first man nodded, reaching for the detective's arms, soliciting a weak groan as he did.  
"He's alive, at least," the other man commented as he took his legs. "Maybe he's coming to?"  
"To my carriage, gentlemen," the man urged. "I fear he may be hurt internally. I must get him to the hospital immediately."  
"I've called for the police, doctor," a smartly dressed woman informed him. "Which hospital shall I tell them you've taken him to?"  
"York General," the doctor replied hastily.  
"Perhaps he has identification on him? He looks like a businessman, we should..."  
"Madam!" The man interrupted harshly. "Time is of the essence."  
"Of course," she took a step back, chastened by the man's stern glare. "York General; I'll let them know."  
"Do that," he replied in a clipped tone, before taking a sharp calming breath. "Thank you."  
Turning to see Murdoch loaded into the carriage, the man allowed himself a slight smile.  
"Thank you, gentlemen," he nodded as he strode to his carriage. "For your trouble," he added placing a few coins in each of their hands.  
"Thank you, sir!" The first man replied eagerly, on seeing the size of his reward.  
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," the second added turning a surprised glance toward his companion.

Climbing into the carriage, the man closed the door and tapped his cane on the roof to indicate to the driver to move off.

"Now then, Detective," he smirked. "How many times, do you think, must I help my son evade the noose?"


	2. The Investigation Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fears for Murdoch's safety appear well founded

Inspector Brackenreid checked his pocket watch once more. It had been the third time in the space of two minutes but it felt like an age.

"Where the bloody hell is he?" He grumbled. "The man's never late!"  
"Yes, sir, that is unusual," Constable Crabtree commented in an agreeable, conversational tone. "It's most unlike him. Maybe his bicycle suffered a puncture?"  
"And it chose today, of all days, to do it?" Brackenreid continued to fume.  
"We're late starting too," Doctor Ogden turned a questioning eye to the large black and white clock adorning the wall. "Is that typical?"

Brackenreid lost his ill humour as he turned his attention toward Doctor Ogden. Detective Murdoch's absence had absorbed all his attention and although he had checked the time on numerous occasions, it hadn't yet occurred to him that they still hadn't been called into the court or the witness waiting room.

"Judge Matthews? No, I would say it was most untypical." He frowned as he considered any and all possibilities; all drawing a blank.  
"Sir, doctor!" Crabtree piped up, pointing down the hall as he did. "Chief Constable Giles is here."  
"Giles?" Brackenreid frowned. "What brings you here, sir?" He asked as Giles approached.

Giles sighed, sparing Doctor Ogden a brief sympathetic glance as he drew alongside the group.

"Good morning Doctor," he nodded, before immediately continuing. "Gillies has escaped, Inspector."  
"Again?" Brackenreid stared in astonishment at the words. "How this time?"  
"He was visited by a priest last night during the shift change over. He killed him, assumed his identity and simply walked out! He even used some of the priest's hair and some homemade paste to fashion a moustache to complete his disguise."  
"How was it that the priest was visiting?" Brackenreid asked immediately. "The eve of the trial is a little early for last rites and I can't see him confessing his sins!"  
"That's just it, Inspector, Gillies isn't catholic so I cannot see why he would ask for a priest. Where is Murdoch? We need to look into his death in case it's in any way significant other than just a man whose identity he can use."  
"Sir, Murdoch hasn't arrived yet."  
"Not yet?" Giles snapped. "It's gone eight, he..." Giles stopped mid sentence as he caught sight of the sudden distress on Doctor Ogden's expression. "We have to consider the possibility that his absence is no coincidence. Inspector, we must find Detective Murdoch immediately."  
"Sir," Crabtee address the Chief Constable. "Where is the priest now, sir?"  
"On his way to the morgue, I should think. Why?"  
"Well, sir, Detective Murdoch always likes to observe the scene of the crime, if you will. It helps him gather all the facts."  
"Really, then I suggest you visit the Don Jail on your way to the morgue, constable."  
"Sirs, will another detective be assisting us?"  
"Crabtree, we have no idea as yet if we need anyone to assist us." Brackenreid brought what he hoped was some perspective to the discussion. "What happened to your puncture theory?"  
"Quite so, sir," he replied with a sheepish expression, with the sudden realisation that Doctor Ogden was standing at his side, and the unpleasant alternative was that somehow, Gillies had perhaps killed the detective.  
"I will go to the morgue to see if I can assist Doctor Grace," Doctor Ogden spoke for the first time.  
"I'm certain that won't be necessary, doctor. Shall I have a constable escort you home?"  
"No, Chief Constable Giles, I am not likely to faint or be hysterical. I am perfectly capable of assisting."  
"Doctor, I had no intention of..." Giles began, only to be interrupted.  
"I'm certain your intentions were sincere, Chief Constable, but if your fears are founded and William is missing, then he will be best served if everyone is doing their best, don't you think?"  
"Well put, Doctor," Giles offered an appreciative smile. "Crabtree, arrange for Doctor Ogden's transport to the morgue. Inspector we shall return to Station House Four and co-ordinate the enquiry."

Brackenreid nodded, praying they were all wrong.

"About time, constable! Do you realise how long I've been waiting for you to arrive? And in this heat."

Higgins grimaced; surely the beads of sweat on his brow had given some indication of how quickly he had cycled? Settling the bicycle on its rest, he took a deep breath and forced a thin smile.

"Yes, miss, I'm sorry to have delayed you, thank you for waiting. Can I take your name miss?"  
"Amy Fairchild," she replied. "I do hope he's not badly hurt. Do you think you could keep me appraised of his situation?"  
"Well, miss, it's usually just family, but as you've been so kind as to wait and all, I'm sure I can keep you informed."

Higgins breathed a slight sigh as, with his words, her ill temper faded into a smile.

"Thank you, constable, and I'm sorry I was so sharp with you."  
"Quite all right, miss, this heat is enough to test the patience of even the finest of ladies."  
"Thank you for understanding... Constable?"  
"Higgins, miss, Henry Higgins. Perhaps you would prefer if we retreated to the shade to take your statement? Constable Worseley over there has the bicycle, so there's no need to..."  
"Higgins!"

Higgins looked over to see Worseley urgently waving him over.

"Excuse me, Miss Fairchild, please could you wait for me over in the shade?"  
"Yes, of course, Constable Higgins," she replied with a polite nod and another smile.

Worseley was once more kneeling on one knee, leaning over the bicycle as Higgins crossed the street, weaving in and out of the carriages and bicycles making their way down the busy thoroughfare.

"What have you found, Worseley?" Higgins asked as he arrived at Worsley's side.  
"Higgins, this bicycle has been tampered with." He replied, looking up as he remained kneeling. "Look, there's some sort of mechanism attached to the rear that's clamped down on the wheel. It's jammed solid. If this man took a tumble from his bicycle, it's because someone intended it to happen. Also, there's this... Ow!" he cried as he pricked his finger on a sharp needle-like spike protruding from the crossbar.  
"Worseley, that's Detective Murdoch's bicycle. See, here's the scrape on it when my bicycle fell into it!"  
"Does he know about that?" Worseley asked with a wry smile.  
"Worseley, you, me and Crabtree know about that and that's three too many already!"  
Worseley chuckled at Higgins' obvious discomfort, but before he had chance to reply, a wave of dizziness washed over him.  
"Henry... I... I don't feel..."  
"Worseley!" Higgins cried as his colleague slipped suddenly to the ground alongside the bicycle.  
"Constable!" Miss Fairchild cried, running to Higgins' side. "What on earth has happened?"  
"Miss, I'm going to have to call for an ambulance and ask that you come to the station house, please?"  
"Me? I had nothing to do with this?" she cried, both shocked and indignant.  
"No miss, I think you're a witness to a crime."

*

With a soft groan barely moving over his lips, William Murdoch opened his eyes for the briefest of moments. A surprising amount of information filtered through into his clouded mind. It was dark, with the dimmest of lights emanating from high above and to his left. It was cold... No, there was a distinct chill in the air but the cold sensation came mainly from below and behind him. A few seconds of reasoning told him that he was seated on the floor and that and wall behind were made of stone. The whole room seemed unnaturally quiet, punctuated occasionally only by the eerie sound of water dripping somewhere off to the right. Finally, a terrible dehydration combined with a severe debilitating ache raged in his head, spreading down his neck, making him reluctant to try to open his eyes once more. But it wasn't an option. He had to figure out where he was and how he had come to be here. The very last thing he remembered was cycling to the court house, late and in some discomfort from the heat. Was that why he was dehydrated? But if so, it explained nothing else. Forcing his reluctant eyes open once more required more effort than he had expected with even the dim light permeating the gloom causing his headache to worsen considerably. Slowly gathering his senses and becoming gradually aware of his body's stiffness, he tried to adjust his position. Frowning, his brow creasing initially with confusion, Murdoch looked to his arms, only to find them suspended by chains roughly at shoulder height, with his hands secured in thick metal clasps. Balling his fists, he pulled on the chains with all the strength his body would allow him, but to no avail. A weak, almost numb sensation was overtaken by waves of debilitating pain as his muscles objected to the movement, having been held in one position for so long. He slumped back once more, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. Yes, he had been in this position a long time, certainly. But how long?

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and the pain subsided, he glanced around, slowly taking in his surroundings. The rows of racks, filled with bottles made it easy to identify the room as a wine cellar, but where was a mystery to him. Looking down at his ankles, he sighed to see that they too were secured, but this time with a simple length of rope. Whoever had him clearly had no intention of allowing him an easy escape. Racking his memory as to how he had ended up here was drawing a blank every time.  
Murdoch could also now see that what little there was came from a single strip of light shining through underneath a door at the top of the stairs against the far wall. Licking his dry lips offered no relief and he closed his eyes once more. Resting his head back against the wall as he tried to muster the strength for another attempt on the chains holding him to the wall, but barely able to even feel his arms much less use them he didn't hold out much hope.  
At the sound of the door handle turning, Murdoch's eyes were drawn upward. Light streamed in from beyond the cellar causing him to squint in the sudden brightness. A silhouette:a tall, somewhat portly figure of a man filled the doorway. The first sound out of his lips was a condescending laugh that kept going even as he took to the steps.

"Well, Detective, I see you're awake at last. I wasn't sure how powerful to make the drug, but I think I could have used a lot less."  
"Drug?" Murdoch replied, squinting against the bright light as he tried to see who it was that was approaching. "You drugged me last night? That's why I was running late?"  
"No, well, yes, of course last night. But I meant the drug I attached to the spring loaded lever on your bicycle."  
"What are you talking about?" Murdoch asked, desperately trying to search his memory.  
"You think you simply had an accident? That would be a little too convenient, wouldn't it? You know I'm an engineer, I made a few small adjustments to your bicycle. Firstly, the spring loaded lever injected your thigh with chloral hydrate, then as that took effect, a device attached behind the saddle clamped onto the wheel allowing Newton's First Law to do the rest.  
"The bicycle stopped, but I continued," Murdoch nodded, finally remembering being thrown abruptly and somewhat painfully. "And you brought me here?"  
"I did indeed."  
"In full view of a crowd of people?"  
"In view of them?" He laughed. "They helped me! It's remarkable what people will do to help a man claiming to be a doctor."

Murdoch nodded. The man, whoever he was, had planned his abduction in meticulous detail. All that remained was who and why?

"Show yourself," he shouted up to the man still in silhouette.  
"You don't recognise me? Not even my voice?" He mocked. "We have met on several occasions now. Well, not met socially, of course, but you have seen and heard me."

Continuing down the stairs, the man approached Murdoch who looked up, with a clear expression of recognition, but unable to place him.

"I'm disappointed, Detective. Would it help to tell you that we were to meet again today?"

Realisation dawned with a terrible sinking feeling.

"Rupert Gillies; James Gillies' father."  
"The very same. Don't you think it's ironic, Detective that so much time and effort was afforded to guarding Doctor Ogden's home in the time before the trial, but not a soul was watching your room?"  
"So," Murdoch sighed. "Like father, like son?"


	3. Enter James Gillies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Gillies arrives home and both George and Henry make important discoveries

Murdoch stared up impassively, his detective training and instincts telling him to give nothing away to the man standing before him. Yes, he was scared, he would be a fool not to be, but he was determined not to show it. It was, however, a double edged sword; his defiant glare was destined either to intimidate or infuriate and he had a strong suspicion that it would be the latter.

"You know the problem with James, Detective?"  
"I do indeed; he's a murderer."

Rupert Gillies laughed cynically at what he perceived to be a comment laced with sarcastic amusement, but was in fact meant with all seriousness.

"Yes, he is, but I imagine you don't really believe that was what I was alluding to."  
"I'm sure you're very proud of him," Murdoch replied dryly.

Gillies Senior drew closer until he was standing over Murdoch, looking down with an expression that held an air of superiority. Somewhere between gloating and amusement, malice and disregard, he stared at the helpless detective, enjoying the the feeling of power over the man he had grown to hate despite conferring a certain level of grudging respect on him.

"You don't like my son, do you, Murdoch?" He finally asked.  
"Like him?" Murdoch raised puzzled eyes toward Rupert Gillies. Despite what would be a fairly obvious reply, it was a most unexpected question.  
"Yes, Murdoch, you did hear correctly. You don't respect him at all?"  
"Mr Gillies, your son is a sequential kidnapper and murderer, as, in fact, are you. Why do you believe I would have any respect for that?"  
"His flair, skill and imagination must be far beyond what you're used to dealing with. He is brilliant, a genius, in fact. As a fairly intelligent man yourself, surely you respect that?"

Murdoch tried not to show his irritation at the insult on his abilities, masquerading as a compliment. Even as he began his reply, he knew he was taking a chance, but something - indignant pride or anger, possibly even the simple truth - spurred him on.

"One of your assessments is incorrect, Mr Gillies," he raised an eyebrow. "I find it hard to understand how a fairly intelligent man could outsmart a genius," he paused until he saw Gillies about to reply. "Three times."

Gillies Senior took a sharp intake of breath and he drew his lips into a thin line.

"You know, Detective," he began, his expression hardening, "you're really in no position to defend yourself. If you continue in this vein, I will be forced to hurt you."  
"Something you could only do because I can't defend myself."  
Gillies Senior chuckled; Murdoch was trying to provoke him, possibly into making a mistake. But it would take much more than that to force him to act hastily. He had planned this far too carefully to be tripped up by his own ego.  
"But of course, Detective. I have the advantage and I fully intend to keep it."  
"What do you want?" Murdoch asked, trying hard to maintain a cool demeanour.  
"Want?" Rupert Gillies allowed a light laugh to curl his lips upwards; his reaction suggesting that his reasoning should be obvious.  
"Do you believe your son will be released as a ransom for me," Murdoch continued. "Because I assure you, Mr Gillies, that won't happen."  
"Detective," Gillies Senior laughed mockingly as he consulted his pocket watch. "By now, my son is already free."

Murdoch's eyes widened at the unexpected announcement as he continued.

"But you? You'll never see the light of day again. You see, Detective, going back to my earlier question, and," he waved a hand casually, "taunting aside, my son's greatest fault is the naivety of youth. He really doesn't appreciate how dangerous and, yes, how intelligent you are. But, you see, I do. I know exactly what you're capable of, Detective and this time, there will be no games, no tests, no experiments."  
"And absolutely no fun!" came a voice from the top of the stairs.  
"James!" Gillies Senior cried elatedly.  
"Hello father, Detective. Ah, now this is what I call a welcome home gift! And so beautifully gift wrapped too," he added with a genuine but menacing grin.

Murdoch gritted his teeth; to all outward appearances Rupert Gillies had seemed a concerned father, worried and shocked by his son's behaviour at each of his trials. Now it appeared as though, not only was Gillies' behaviour consistent with that of his father, but there almost seemed to be a rivalry between them. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to be gained from the exploitation of that most unhealthy of traits. There was hope, it was slim, but right now it was all he had.

*

George Crabtree stared into James Gillies' cell and tried hard not to appear overwhelmed. Whenever he was assisting Detective Murdoch, it seemed he knew exactly what to do, but when having to face the situation alone, he immediately began to doubt himself.

"Anything wrong?" Came the voice of the guard behind him.  
"No," he began hesitantly before summoning a more assertive tone. "No, thank you, I'm just observing the cell as a whole before investigating in detail."  
"Oh, alright then, I'll leave you to it. Come back to the gate when you're done."

There. He'd found his stride again.

"See, George," he whispered to himself. "It's as Doctor Grace says, you've just got to believe in yourself a bit more. Now then..." He frowned and rubbed his forehead as he realised he'd momentarily lost his train of thought; he just needed to place himself back in the right frame of mind again. "So... Now then, George, what have you?"

Casting a careful glance around the room, one thing stood out to him immediately: the absence of blood. Without a body or coroner's report to go on, it made it virtually impossible for him to know what to look for and what to discount. Nevertheless, this was all he had and he was not about to let anyone down by missing something crucial. Drawing his notebook from his pocket, he began to think aloud whilst writing.

"So... No blood. What could that mean? Well, he could only have been killed here so it must have been poisoning, strangling or a knife of some sort. So, which one?"

Crabtree propped his right elbow on his left hand, tucked close to and across his waist. Finally resting his chin in his hand, he pondered the problem.

"Poisoning...?" He allowed himself a few moments to look around the cell. The only liquid was a small wooden mug of water and Crabtree made a mental note to take a sample of the water back to Dr Grace to analyse. "Right, strangulation."

Crabtree almost rolled his eyes; there seemed to be almost too many possibilities for this. Perhaps something the priest brought with him, a simple shoelace or a torn sheet would do the job effectively. There was only one option and that was to look for possible discarded objects and await Dr Grace's report. There was, of course one thing he could check - were the sheets and blankets on the bed still intact? Pulling back the coarse grey blanket rendered the strangulation theory irrelevant. Arterial spray and further profuse bleeding had caused the greying sheet and the thin lumpy mattress to be literally soaked through with a large quantity of blood, still a vivid bright red. Crabtree sucked air through his teeth. The priest had been stabbed all right, and so viciously there wouldn't have been time even for him to shout before dying. From the angle of the spray and the fact that there was no other blood in the room, Crabtree concluded that he must have been kneeling at the side of the bed, possibly in prayer when Gillies attacked him. It sickened and shocked him to think about the callousness of the attack. He swallowed hard as he thought about Detective Murdoch, once again in this man's hands.

"Concentrate, George," he admonished himself after a wave of concern threatened to overshadow his thoughts.

Okay, he nodded to himself, satisfied he had discovered how it had happened - but what else?  
Lying in the bed and also on the floor, were small snippets of hair, confirming Chief Constable Giles' assertion that he had used the priest's hair to fashion a moustache.

So, that covered where he died, roughly how he died and what happened next was under no dispute, but how had he come to be there in the first place? Had Gillies called for him?Had he specifically asked for that priest? Was there a basic likeness between them? If so, how did he know? It was time to visit the prison Warden.

*

"Doctor Grace?" Doctor Ogden spoke clearly, with only the slightest of uncertainty in her voice. "I wondered if I may assist you?"  
"Doctor Ogden," she replied, courteously but with empathy and concern in her tone. "I would be grateful if you did, I wouldn't want to miss anything crucial."  
"Thank you, Doctor Grace, but I'm certain you wouldn't. I just want to make myself useful."  
"Well, Doctor, I wondered... Perhaps... Perhaps you could consider using your psychiatric skills to form a profile."  
"A profile? But we know who has him."  
"Yes, but..."  
"Oh course!" A broad smile stretched across her face. "You mean use the profile to discover where he may be or what he might do?"  
"That's right, doctor, it could very possibly bring the investigation to a speedy conclusion."  
"It is an untried science, Doctor Grace, I don't know a soul who has even given it any thought."  
"Then you will be the first!" Doctor Grace replied enthusiastically.  
"You don't think it a waste of resource? If I'm wrong... William... He..."  
"You won't be wrong," Doctor Grace replied steadfastly and with absolute certainty. "I'm certain. You know him... Gillies. You have a much better understanding of him than any of us."  
"He has such a cold, calculating mind. I don't believe there is anyone who could truly claim to know him, but I'll begin right away." She smiled, now assured of at least feeling as though she was helping. "May I use your office."  
"Of course, doctor. Please, make yourself at hime, little has changed since you left."  
"Thank you." She smiled, hopeful that their idea would be fruitful.

*

Taking a seat at Higgins' desk, Amy Fairchild seemed fascinated by the reasoning and procedures.  
"Constable Higgins, what do you believe I witnessed? You said it may be a crime. How do you know? To me it just appeared that a passing doctor took an injured man to York General. Or is that not what you're referring to?"  
"It is indeed, miss. I've had another constable check with York General and no victims of accidents as you describe were admitted today."  
"I'm certain he said York General, Constable Higgins, I asked him specifically."  
"We've checked all the hospitals, Miss Fairchild."  
"But you thought it was a crime before you knew that?

Higgins didn't want to go into any more detail. The less information was public, the better it might be for Detective Murdoch. Ignoring her question, he continued:

"Did you get a good look at this man claiming to be a doctor, miss? Could you describe him?"  
"Oh yes, a very clear look, I remember him distinctly. And there's the carriage, too, of course."  
"The carriage?" Higgins looked up, his pencil poised in mid air.  
"Yes, they placed him inside the carriage to take him to the hospital."  
"They?" He queried. "He had others with him?"  
"No, he asked for help, but I remember they were both dressed the same. I got the feeling they worked for the same company. A sort of uniform, perhaps."  
"And you can describe them, too?" Higgins smiled hopefully.  
"I'm sorry, constable, I can only really tell you what they wore, I didn't look too closely."  
"Of course," Higgins tried hard not to sound too deflated by the response. Still, if their clothes were distinctive, then perhaps he could track them down.  
"And I can tell you a little about the driver, too."  
"Miss Fairchild, you are extremely observant, if you don't mind me saying."  
"Not at all, constable." She offered a shy smile. "I will certainly do my best."  
"So, Inspector," Giles began as he took a seat opposite Brackenreid's desk, "what do we have so far?"

Inspector Brackenreid's brow furrowed deeply; they had literally just returned from the court house. What they knew of the situation was already shared between them. Perhaps all Giles was really after was a plan of action?

"Of course," he nodded with more assurance than he felt. "I'll send a couple of men around to Murdoch's boarding room..."  
"No," Giles interrupted.  
"No?" Brackenreid objected in a gruff tone, before adding: "Sir?"  
"You and I will go. We have the most experience and are more likely to find something that may help. I'm not in any way doubting your men, Inspector, but you must admit, it's in Murdoch's interests to use experience over concern."  
"Yes, sir. Thank you." Brackenreid was so taken aback by the offer, he almost posed his thanks as a question.  
"Brackenreid, a very senior and capable detective is missing. I will do what I can to assist. Consider me at your disposal."  
"Thank you, sir," Brackenreid replied, still grateful but genuinely surprised at the response.  
"Now then, I think it's time we appraised the men of the situation, don't you?"  
"Yes, sir," Brackenreid replied confidently and rising from behind his desk. "I'm sure there's not a man jack of them that will rest until he's found."

Heading out of his office with Chief Constable Giles walking behind him, Brackenreid didn't notice Amy Fairchild at Higgins's desk as he shouted for everyone's attention.

"Right then lads. Some of you may have heard by now that Detective Murdoch is missing. He was due at the court house this morning by eight for Gillies' trial and never arrived.Now I know you're all..."  
"Sir!" Higgins piped up.  
"This had better be important, Higgins!" Brackenreid growled, annoyed at having been interrupted.  
"Yes, sir," he replied with hesitant enthusiasm. It all fit, the tampered with bicycle, the phoney doctor, the staged accident. "Sir, I believe Detective Murdoch has been abducted, sir. Miss Fairchild here, witnessed it all."  
"That's what I saw?" She gasped in amazement.  
"She doesn't seem so sure, constable," Giles commented.  
"Sirs, Miss Fairchild called us to the scene of what appeared to be an accident, but we discovered Detective Murdoch's bicycle. It seemed to have been tampered with."  
"Tampered with?" Giles pressed.  
"Yes, sir, there was a spike with some sort of sleeping draught on it and..."  
"Bloody hell, man! At what point were you planning on sharing this information?" Brackenreid roared, embarrassed that one on the men he had just been praising could have made such an error of judgement.  
"But, sir you just got back and Chief Constable Giles was with you." Higgins' brow creased under the effort of the explanation. "And we only..."  
"I've been helping Constable Higgins with details of the men who took your detective." Miss Fairchild interjected. "Surely that's vital to your case?"

Brackenreid took a calming deep breath. Yes, it was vital, but some knowledge it was happening would have left him feeling less of a fool in front of Giles.

"Get all the information you can from Miss...?"  
"Fairchild," she replied with a nod and a smile.  
"Miss," Brackenreid nodded politely. "From Miss Fairchild, make your report and then find Crabtree. Where's Worseley?"  
"In the hospital, sir," Higgins replied, certain he would get bawled out again. "He found the sleeping draught the hard way."

Brackenreid rolled his eyes.

"Make your report, Higgins, I'll speak to you later." Taking a deep breath, he turned toward Giles. "Sir?"  
"We're going to Murdoch's accommodation, if there are any developments, we wish to be advised immediately. Does everybody understand?"

Nobody wanted to cross the Chief Constable, but equally no one wanted to speak first. It was Higgins who found the courage. Having already been shouted at by the inspector it seemed less painful to risk taking another earful. Beginning the chorus of 'Yes, sirs' he couldn't quite summon the nerve to raise his eyes.

Chief Constable Giles left first and as Brackenreid passed by Higgins' desk he patted the young constable on the shoulder by way of a comforting and supportive gesture. They were all on edge, and they would work best knowing they all had each other's backs, despite flared tempers. Higgins managed a smile as the Inspector nodded.

"Don't worry, lads," he added. "We'll find him"


	4. Murdoch goads Gillies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation continues and Murdoch takes an opportunity to goad Gillies

George Crabtree entered the imposing yet austere office and looked around. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves carrying old, important-looking and highly decorative books. Each bound in leather with gold leaf decoration down the spine. Crabtree couldn't help but notice, however, that all of the volumes appeared rather dusty and neglected. The appearance of the office seemed to be designed to inspire awe, conveying the intelligence and importance of the man in the office beyond, but it all appeared to be simply for show. Rather an impressive show, but a show nonetheless.

It was a strange feeling. In his own clothes he might have felt intimidated to be in the outer office of so important a man, but in his blues, he felt quite comfortable and ready to approach the woman sitting at the desk, already peering over he spectacles at him.

"Can I help you..." She paused. "Constable?"

The addition of the title almost sounded derogatory and it ruffled Crabtree's feathers somewhat. He was a simple, polite constable. One day, he hoped to make detective under Murdoch's tutelage. He regarded himself of deserving of at least civility, if not simple respect.

"I'm here to see the Warden, ma'am," he nodded politely, as much as to show how easy it was, as anything.  
"Do you have an appointment?" She asked, opening a large book. "The Warden is quite busy, you know."

Crabtree took a deep breath; she seemed determined to be rude and obstructive.

"Madam, I am investigating a murder and the escape of a dangerous criminal from this establishment. I trust he's not too busy to discuss that?"  
"The man you're referring to hadn't yet been to trial, constable," she replied with an air of disapproval. "You can't be certain he's a criminal."  
"Yes madam I can. This man has been tried for other crimes and been sentenced to hang twice before but escaped. In addition, he made his own full confession. This trial was more a formality than a necessity."

The woman closed the book with a sudden snap, making a noise that reverberated around the room, despite the many volumes to absorb the sound.

"I'll see if he's free," she replied in a clipped tone.

"That will be excellent, thank you," Crabtree replied in a most courteous tone that, from her expression, seemed only to inflame her irritation more.

Crabtree rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He was only doing his duty and she would have plenty more to say if he didn't. Of that he was certain.  
It only took a few moments for her to return. To Crabtree she looked even more angry than earlier. How sad it must be, he thought, to live your life in varying degrees of anger.

"You may go in, but he has another appointment in twenty minutes."  
"I'll try not to take up too much of his time, ma'am. Thank you."

Crabtree pushed open the heavy mahogany door and looked over at the man sitting across the room who immediately smiled. It was such a welcoming smile that Crabtree had walked in even before he realised it.

"Constable Crabtree, Warden. I'm investigating the priest's death and Gillies' escape."  
"Ah, yes, Constable," the Warden was already calling from in front of his desk. "Come in, I've been expecting you."

Compared with the outer room, the Governor's own office seemed light and airy, even welcoming. There were yet more books lining one entire wall, but unlike those in the outer room, these looked both used and cared for. The substantial and grand desk in the centre, under the impressively large window took up most of the space, but there were a few other chairs, a small mahogany table and what appeared to be a drinks cabinet.

"Can I offer you anything, constable?"

Crabtree turned a virtually blank expression in his direction.

"A drink? I have a particularly fine brandy," the Warden added, confirming Crabtree's assumption about the cabinet.  
"Er, no, thank you, sir. Not while I'm on duty."  
"Tea then?" He offered.  
"Oh, yes, sir. Tea would be most welcome, thank you."  
"I'll ask Mrs Ross to get you some."  
"Oh... But..." Crabtree frowned. "I think she might be busy." He suggested, generously not mentioning her rudeness towards him.  
"The only thing Mrs Ross is ever busy doing is complaining." He smiled knowingly. "Take a seat, Constable. Mrs Ross," he called from the doorway.  
"Sir?" Even with her employer her tone barely changed.  
"Some tea for the constable, if you will."

Not even bothering to wait for the grumbled response, the Warden turned and closed the door.

"Don't worry, constable, she's like that with everyone."  
"Even you, sir?"  
"Especially me!" He replied with a tilt of his head.  
"If you don't mind me asking, sir..."  
"Why do I keep her? I don't have much say in the matter. She's my wife."  
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir." Crabtree grew suddenly flustered. "No, I don't mean I'm sorry she's your wife! I mean..."  
"I know," he cut in with a hearty laugh. "Felix Ross," he extended a hand to the surprised Crabtree who shook it almost without thinking about it. "What have you discovered?"  
"Yes, sir," Crabtree nodded, glad to be back on familiar ground. "The priest was murdered in the cell. By my reckoning, the two were kneeling when Gillies slit the priest's throat."  
"Whatever with?" Ross replied lowering his glass.  
"That I can't tell you, sir, it would appear he took the murder weapon with him. He then tipped the priest into the bed, took his clothes and covered him up."  
"Wouldn't his clothes have been covered in blood?" Ross asked.  
"Yes, sir, I would have thought a substantial amount, but it was dark by then and the priest's clothes were black, it could easily have gone unnoticed unless someone made a specific point of looking and who would do that?"  
"Quite so," Ross frowned thoughtfully.  
"Warden Ross, Gillies asked for a priest, but he wasn't Catholic. Did he specifically choose that priest or was it just a local priest? Was there a similarity between them?"  
"I can tell you he specifically asked for a priest called Father Conlan, but as to why? That I can't answer, constable. You'd have to ask the guard on duty in that wing."  
"And is he..."

Crabtree paused as Mrs Ross entered with a tea tray. Even before she had set it down, the Warden was speaking.

"My dear, who was on duty in E wing yesterday, before the night shift?"  
"Penrose," she replied, placing the tray on the desk. "He's supposed to be on duty today, but he hasn't come in yet."  
"Oh, is he ill?" The Warden asked.  
"I don't believe he's given a reason, sir."  
"Get someone to look into it, will you?" Ross smiled.  
"I already have. I know my responsibilities," she frowned.  
"Of course. Will you be mother?" He asked waving a hand over the tray.  
"I'll see if there's any more information on Penrose," she replied, her curt tone returning.

Crabtree was beginning to understand why she had such a churlish outlook. in the few minutes since he had met him, Crabtree had noticed that Ross, despite being personable, was somewhat dismissive of his wife and he imagined that as a consequence, over the years, her disposition had soured.

"Go on, constable," Ross encouraged as he poured the tea.  
"Well, sir, it appears that he also used clippings of the priest's hair to fashion a moustache to disguise himself further."  
"Clever chap, this Gillies, isn't he?"  
"I'm afraid so, sir. He's proved quite a match for the Detective three times now. Quite the slippery customer."  
"I must say, constable, I assumed that a detective would be accompanying you, if you don't take that as a slight against your abilities."  
"Oh, not at all, sir," Crabtree responded with a smile at his courteousness. He couldn't help but wonder how this man had come to marry such a complete opposite to himself, but as he'd often thought - it takes all sorts. "The detective is, er... elsewhere at the moment," he answered as truthfully as he could.  
"I understand that maybe you can't divulge everything to me," Ross replied with a nod.

Crabtree took a deep breath, wishing more than anything that he knew exactly where Detective Murdoch was, and that he was well.

"Can you tell me how it is that Gillies asked for the priest?"  
"Yes, that surprised me too," Warden Ross replied with a thoughtful expression. "Gillies was not a practising Catholic to to the best of my knowledge. Certainly none of the guards recall him attending Mass in the chapel."  
"You have mass here?" Crabtree replied, genuinely surprised.  
"We have a significant enough proportion of inmates who are Catholic to warrant running a Mass."  
"Ah, so the priest was the one who said Mass for the inmates?"  
"No, surprisingly he asked for Father Conlan specifically."  
"So, no one really knew Father Conlan?" Crabtree questioned.  
"No," Ross sighed. "I suppose that made it easier to assume his identity, especially as he visited as the day shift changed to the night shift. No one would have any idea what he looked like."  
"Did he have a moustache? Father Conlan?"  
"I don't know, Constable, you'd have to ask Penrose."

Crabtree nodded. The moustache was almost certainly more to hide his own features, than to look like someone else.  
The door opened once more and Mrs Ross appeared, subdued and even pale in the doorway.

"Felix," she began, immediately alerting the Warden to her distress. "Penrose has been discovered dead in his home this morning. His throat was cut. Apparently Station House Five are investigating. They're treating it as suspicious."  
"I should say so!" Crabtree announced.  
"I should take care of my wife, Constable. She's had something of a shock. Do you have any more questions?"  
"Not at the moment, sir. I'll be on my way."

Murdoch tried moving his arms, but his muscles screamed their objections from having been held in one place too long. Grimacing with determination, he started with his wrists, slowly flexing them and ignoring the chafing of the manacles against his skin. Now trying to extend his right arm, he realised immediately that he was trying too much too soon. A heat spread up his neck and down past his shoulder blade to his spine, taking his breath away. Pausing, gasping as he allowed his head to flop back, Murdoch tried to slow his racing heart as he willed the pain to subside. His chest rose and fell quickly as he relaxed once more. He knew, of course, that he would have to move, and soon. If there was to be any chance of escape, he wanted to be ready for it, but this was more pain than he had endured in his life. gritting his teeth, he was about to begin again when The door at the top of the stairs opened once more revealing one of his captors. From the silhouette, he guessed the younger and possibly more dangerous of the two. At the sound of light mocking laughter, he knew he had guessed correctly.

"In case you didn't realise, Detective, you're being watched."

Gillies pointed up to a small fixture mounted near the ceiling. Looking up, still pale and exhausted from his exertions, Murdoch spotted what looked like the end of a telescope aimed at him.

"You're wasting your time, detective. What do you think you could possibly need your arms for? Your jacket is over there," Gillies pointed to a chair near the opposite wall on which hung Murdoch's suit jacket. "All the equipment that you've so carefully secreted inside it is still there. My father decided it best to relieve you of it rather than try to find everything. I wouldn't put it past you to have a secret pocket and we can't have you escaping. Only one of us can survive, detective and I assure you, it will be me. You see, this time, I've bested you and it will be the last time. Unlike you, I don't have to wait for the law to take its course."  
"You've bested me?" Murdoch saw an opening, however dangerous. "Are you sure about that?"  
Gillies offered a superior smile and gestured towards Murdoch. "I have you chained to a wall in the wine cellar awaiting your fate. Yes, I would say I've bested you."  
"And I would say you had nothing to do with it. Did you sabotage my bicycle?" Murdoch could see the change in his expression and pressed on. "Did you abduct me? Did you bring me here? Did you even fasten the locks?"  
"Enough, detective," Gillies snapped.  
"How can you assume the credit for any of this? All you have managed to do is escape from jail and I wager that your father engineered that too! As I suspect he has for all your escapes!"

A dark expression descended suddenly over Gillies' face and the back of a half-clenched fist connected sharply with Murdoch's cheek. Kneeling at his side, Gillies grabbed Murdoch's neck viciously and pushed back so hard as to slam the back of his head into the wall. Murdoch's senses reeled but he knew he'd hit a raw nerve - hopefully it was worth the pain.

"Are you suggesting I can't destroy you, detective? You know better than that."  
"You've tried and failed," Murdoch choked out, "three times. Now your father's come to show you how it's done."  
"I could kill you now!" Gillies laughed. "But you wouldn't suffer enough."  
"You can't kill me," Murdoch's voice was barely audible under the pressure of Gillies' hand cutting off just enough air to weaken him. "Not without your father's approval."  
"I decide!" Gillies ranted.  
"James!" Gillies Senior ordered from the top of the stairs. "Let go of him at once!"

Gillies hesitated for a few moments, the frustration and humiliation building on his face.

"I said at once!" Gillies Senior roared as he descended into the cellar.

Pulling his hand away almost as roughly as he had seized him, Gillies glowered at Murdoch who simply stared up and uttered one word that had more power than even he could know.

"See?"

Infuriated, Gillies rose and turned only to receive a clip around the ear from his father.

"I don't expect to have to tell you twice, James. Now, we're expecting guests; I'm told that the local constabulary will be visiting shortly. Go to the library and hide yourself."  
"Yes, father," Gillies muttered; humiliation crushing him.  
"Now then, detective. This cellar isn't nearly as soundproof as I'd hoped. I could hear James's ranting all the way upstairs. I can't risk you shouting for help when our guests are here can I?"

Pulling a long, thick strip of cotton from his pocket, Gillies Senior forced the centre of the material deep into Murdoch's mouth before crossing the two ends at the nape of his neck and pulling them forward to tie a double knot almost filling his mouth. Despite being weakened by Gillies' attack, Murdoch put up a fight, trying hard to resist being gagged but with so little movement allowed to him, there was little he could do. Finally Rupert Gillies pulled Murdoch's hand up nearer to the wall, revelling in the muffled scream of pain as he did. Murdoch's mind reeled, overtaken by the severity of the pain washing over him as Gillies fastened a padlock through two links of the chain, shortening it so he couldn't reach to remove the gag. Murdoch steeled himself for the same level of pain as he moved his left arm, but no amount of preparation was going to help and he let out another cry of agony as the pain left him hanging limply, barely conscious.

"There," Gillies Senior smiled. "I can't see you making much of a sound with that to contend with. I will present my usual shocked and appalled self at the shameful and evil behaviour of my son and they will go on their way satisfied that I will be a good citizen and inform them should he appear. You see, detective, my son might have the advantage when it comes to imaginative schemes, but I consider the long game in ways he never could. You have to admit, I fooled even you. And if I can fool you, I don't see anyone else seeing through me, do you?"


	5. Mrs Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Mrs Kitchen yields some information

Mrs Kitchen's boarding house at 22 Ontario Street was a large building near the corner of the intersection with Adelaide Street. With no signs or plaques to identify it as such, it was only by recommendation that boarders came to find rooms there. That way, Mrs Kitchen believed, a better class of tenant could be maintained as only trustworthy and respectable boarders would be suggested by current borders. Or in William Murdoch's case when newly arrived in Toronto, by the local constabulary. To her mind, possibly the highest recommendation short of the Prime Minister himself. Today, members of the local constabulary were a particularly welcome sight. On opening the door to Chief Constable Giles and Inspector Brackenreid, Mrs Kitchen ushered them both inside with surprising haste.

"Thank you for coming so quickly!" She began, leading them through into the shared parlour used by the residents.  
"I'm sorry, Mrs...?" Giles replied with confusion clear in his voice.  
"Kitchen," she stared back, equally confused. "You came because of my call to the station house? No?" She shook her head, preemptive of their response.  
"No ma'am," Giles replied. "We're here concerning Detective Murdoch."  
"He lives here, does he not?" Brackenreid clarified, mindful that it was possible that Murdoch had moved and he had not paid attention.  
"Yes," her hand flew up to her head in distress. "Oh, how is he? I didn't see him this morning. It was awful, everyone was so ill, even me. At first I thought it was my cooking, but then I found it, you see and I called straight away."  
"Found what?" Brackenreid frowned at the need to keep guessing where the conversation was leading. "Mrs Kitchen, could you please start from the beginning?"  
"Yes, but, Mr Murdoch, is he well? I feel so bad."  
"Please, ma'am," Brackenreid dodged the question and indicated a seat. "Tell us what happened."  
"Yes, yes of course," she nodded, taking a seat and indicating that the two policemen did the same. "I was making dinner last night. I was a little later than usual as I got held up on my way home. You see, a young woman stopped me for help at the market. She had lost her purse and needed help finding it. If you ask me, it was a strange thing to do as she didn't strike me poor sighted at all and, as you see, I'm not exactly in my prime! Nevertheless, we found the purse easily enough and she offered me a reward..."  
"Is this relevant to what happened last night, Mrs Kitchen?" Giles interrupted impatiently.  
"Well I was going to say, I wouldn't take any money so she insisted I take a lovely piece of gammon that she had in her basket for my trouble. I thought it was too kind of her to tell the truth, it was large enough to make a decent meal for everyone and if I'm honest, I didn't have anything near as appetising in the house last night, so it would have been..."  
"Ma'am, if you could keep it concise, please?" Giles sighed, visibly impatient.  
"Of course," she nodded. "Well, I cooked it. I was going to boil it, but she suggested I roast it. It was such a fine piece that I agreed it would be better."  
"Mrs Kitchen," Giles motioned for her to move the pace along. "If you please?"

All the while, Brackenreid remained silent. It may have sounded like trivia to the Chief Constable, but it was starting to sound all too familiar to him.

"Well, looking back, it tasted a little odd. Maybe saltier than I would have expected from such a good piece. Everyone seemed to enjoy it though but it wasn't long before everyone was feeling quite ill. So much so they had to sleep. I didn't notice because I was too! Right there on the couch!" She pointed, as if they would be able to see an image of her from the night before. "I didn't wake until just before nine the next morning! That's not like me, and I wasn't the only one. Poor Mr Murdoch had to go without his breakfast! You know what he's like, wouldn't make a fuss. He left me to my sleeping and went out. But one of my boarders is a doctor and he thought it may have been laced with laudanum! That's when I called you."  
"But Detective Murdoch, he ate it, but yet he managed to wake?"  
Mrs Kitchen shook her head sadly. "Something's affecting his appetite. He's never eaten what I'd call heartily, but recently he's barely touched his food. I hoped last night would be different and he did eat a little more, but he left about half, I'd say."  
"Why is that, do you think?" Asked Giles.  
"I imagine he has his reasons," Brackenreid interrupted before Mrs Kitchen speculated on a relationship issue, which would be too near the mark. "Now, Mrs Kitchen? When did you meet this blonde lady?"  
"I told you, yesterday."  
"What time?" Brackenreid asked, earning a confused glance from Giles, somewhat puzzled as to why he was treating her words with any concern.  
"Hmm, I'd say maybe just after four. Yes, something like that."

Brackenreid frowned. From what he had gathered from earlier reports, the priest had visited Gillies at 7pm so the earliest he could have arrived at the market would have been approximately 9pm. The woman couldn't have been Gillies in disguise, as had happened before. Best to take a description and try to find her.

"Could you describe this woman?" Brackenreid asked with a raised eyebrow.  
"Oh, yes," Mrs Kitchen nodded. "I'd say she was about fifty, but very blonde, which I thought was odd, actually."  
"And her appearance?" Brackenreid pressed.  
"Plain," she shrugged. "If you don't mind me saying. Bordering on unattractive, I'd say. Big hands, but soft. Navy blue dress trimmed with white lace and shawl."  
"Hat?" Brackenreid asked, making notes.  
"Just a simple straw hat, with a ribbon, it don't recall the colour but it must have been dark as it don't remember thinking it didn't look right. Oh, and no gloves. I didn't see her boots."  
"Thank you, ma'am, you've been very helpful. Do you have any of the gammon left, by any chance?"  
"I wouldn't risk it, gentlemen," she shook her head.  
"I mean to test it for laudanum," Brackenreid corrected her.  
"Oh, of course!" Mrs Kitchen offered an embarrassed laugh. "Let me fetch you some."

Both men watched as Mrs Kitchen left the room.

"You think this is connected to Gillies?" Giles sounded sceptical. "It couldn't have been him."  
"Chief Constable, the entire household was drugged. It might not have been Gillies himself, but I suspect a connection at least."  
"I take your point, inspector." Giles nodded. "What next?"  
"I would suggest gathering all the statements together. There has to be something in there somewhere."

*

Doctor Ogden pushed a set of papers away, leaned back from the desk and sighed loudly. Doctor Grace had long since finished the autopsy of the priest and had kept as quiet as she could as Doctor Ogden worked on, rarely moving except in frustration.

"Can I get you some tea, Doctor?" Dr Grace asked, finally climbing the few steps to address her mentor.

Dr Ogden looked up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. Her stare was almost unseeing and her exhaustion more than apparent.

"No, thank you," she sighed again, but this time giving away some of the hopelessness she felt. "I really need to keep working."

Dr Grace pursed her lips, uncertain what to say, or rather, she knew exactly what to say but was hesitating over whether or not to say it. 

"I think you need to stop," she finally decided to bite the bullet.  
"No," Dr Ogden insisted forcefully. "I can do this, it just may take some time, that's all."  
"I believe you can do it, Julia," Dr Grace smiled and took Dr Ogden's hands in hers. "But you need to rest. You're exhausted! You've been at this for hours, now."  
"And I will keep at it!" Dr Ogden pulled back and pushed a hand through her hair. "How much, do you think, did William rest when he was trying to find me when I was buried alive or when he was trying to save me from the noose when Gillies framed me?"  
"That was different," Dr Grace implored. "He was under a strict deadline, he couldn't stop."  
"But we don't know what deadline we have, do we? There has been no contact at all. For all we know, he's..."

Dr Ogden's hand flew to her mouth as if to prevent herself saying the word, but it was in fact to hold back the emotion that she knew she was tenuously holding at bay.

"No," she told herself sternly. "He's well, I feel it and I will not fail him."  
"Then allow me to help you," Dr Grace encouraged. "If only as someone to sound ideas against. It's like that sometimes, isn't it? When explaining something, new ideas present themselves or existing ideas are clarified."  
"Yes, thank you," Dr Ogden nodded appreciatively. "You're quite finished with the autopsy?"

Dr Grace smiled sympathetically and in a moment Dr Ogden saw why. Not only had she finished the autopsy, but the body had been stored and all the instruments and table cleaned.

"Some time ago."  
"What time is it?" Dr Ogden frowned in surprise.  
"Just after two. Perhaps you would care to stop for some luncheon. It might help you concentrate."  
"No, I'm quite fine, thank you. You go, Dr Grace; I don't want to keep you from..."  
"Nonsense," Dr Grace offered a determined smile. "I will send out for something simple, perhaps a few sandwiches, and we will continue working together." She reached out and covered Dr Ogden's hand with hers again. "We will find him... Julia. I promise you."  
"You can't promise that."  
"I have," Dr Grace nodded firmly. "So, let us get to work, shall we?"

Dr Ogden smiled with deep gratitude. Dr Grace was remaining so positive and driven, it refreshed her resolve that all would be well with William and that she could help him as he had so often helped her. She loved him with an intensity she had never felt for anyone and it tore at her that since Darcy's murder she hadn't uttered the words except when she was standing with the noose about her neck. She desperately wanted to tell him how she felt. That she loved him. Always had. Always would. The idea that she might not be able to tell him crushed her like a stone slab weighing heavy on her heart. But it was time to put those thoughts away, to lock them up tight. She had work to do. Work that she fervently hoped would help save his life.

*

"Henry," Crabtree called. "What have you learned?"  
"I have Miss Fairchild's statement." Higgins raised the document. "She actually saw Detective Murdoch's abduction, but of course, she didn't realise that's what it was. Gillies was quite careful to make it look like a doctor taking an injured man to hospital."  
"Injured?" Crabtree asked, unaware of all the details.  
"The detective's bicycle was sabotaged and he was thrown from it quite suddenly."

Crabtree took a deep breath.

"So, he may possibly have been unconscious when he was taken?" He asked.  
"Definitely, George," Higgins nodded vigorously. "Part of the tampering was to place a spring-loaded spike tipped with what we now know was chloral hydrate. Would have gone straight into his thigh when triggered. We've also got a few other possible witnesses. After Gillies' house, we have a short list of factories and mills who have employees dressed in a uniform of sorts. Miss Fairchild saw two men helping from the crowd that gathered and believes they might have seen more, certainly of the inside of the carriage."  
"Let's go, Henry," Crabtree drew his lips into a thin line, clearly displaying his concern for his superior's wellbeing. "We must find Detective Murdoch before it's too late."


	6. Three red envelopes and three blue envelopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George acts on a hunch and Murdoch is offered a terrible choice

"Right, listen, you lot!" Brackenreid walked briskly into the duty room carrying the autopsy report of the murdered priest, having already dropped off the piece of gammon for testing. "Doctor Grace has confirmed that the priest had chloral hydrate in his system. Enough that he was probably unconscious when Gillies killed him."  
"That's not like him to to be... I was going to say merciful, sir, but that's not the right word at all, is it?"  
"Not even close, Crabtree," Brackenreid scowled. "The bastard only drugged him to stop him shouting for help, not out of any act of kindness. Remember that. This man is a cold-blooded killer with a grudge against Murdoch so we have to find him, and sharpish. Right?"  
"Yes, sir," came the staggered responses from all the constables present.   
"Sir?"  
"Higgins?"  
"Sir, the drug that was on Detective Murdoch's bicycle was also chloral hydrate. Bit of a coincidence to be separate incidents, don't you think?"  
"Right on the money, Higgins. Good lad." Brackenreid offered a pleased smile at possibly his two best constables. "Get round to Gillies' father's place, see if you can get them to let you have a look around without a warrant."  
"Yes, sir," Crabtree nodded, "we were just on our way."  
"Good. Cooper, Morrison, I want you out by St James' Park asking questions about the accident, the man who took him and the carriage. Higgins, have you passed around the pictures of Murdoch and the man Miss Fairchild saw to show around?"  
"Yes, sir, everyone has one and there's one on your desk, sir. There's also a description of the carriage and the driver."  
"Good work, Higgins. Now get yourself over to Gillies' father's house. From memory, he always seemed as appalled by his son's behaviour as we are, so he should be quite helpful. Where's Worseley? Not still at the hospital?"  
"No, sir," Constable Irwin piped up. "He's out back checking Detective Murdoch's bicycle for finger marks."  
"Right, I want to know the minute anyone finds anything. Understood?"

Brackenreid was greeted with another chorus of 'yes, sirs' before both he and Chief Constable Giles headed for his office.

"Fine men you have there, Brackenreid. They all seem to care about Murdoch."  
"Yes, sir, we all do."  
Giles nodded knowingly. "Well, that explains a few things, I suppose."

Brackenreid took a deep breath. It seemed likely that Giles was having yet another dig at the pair of them for what he knew, but couldn't prove, regarding Murdoch's part in releasing a murderer from jail and Brackenreid for covering it up. He wondered how long Giles would continue reminding them of it. 

The longer he thought about it over time, he pondered the possibility that all Giles wanted was the truth; an admission of guilt and they could put it behind them. As Murdoch had said, Giles was an honest copper who was angry with them because he had reason to be. Murdoch had wanted to tell the truth but Brackenreid had begged him not to as he suspected it would have been the end of both their careers. Now, after time had passed, on reflection, he wondered if that was actually the case and part of him wanted to admit their guilt to Giles. But the nagging doubt persisted. What if he was less than forgiving, as Brackenreid had originally suspected? Was it worth the risk? No, he told himself. Why ruin two men and his own family. It was too much of a risk. Giles would keep making his insinuations and both Brackenreid and Murdoch would let it pass, which, he knew, was in itself almost an admission of guilt. But there was no time to consider that now. 

"Sir, do you think it possible to get a warrant for Gillies' home?"  
"On what grounds, Inspector?" Giles asked with a mild touch of disdain. "Of course, I know as well as you do that he is guilty of abducting Detective Murdoch, but we have no knowledge of where he took him and even less reason to suspect that his father will hide him. Quite the opposite in fact."  
"I know that, sir, but... I have a nagging doubt. Call it a copper's instinct."  
"We can hardly go to a judge with that, Inspector," Giles scoffed. "Let your men do their jobs. I'm sure they'll find something significant soon."  
"Sir," Brackenreid nodded unhappily. "Scotch, sir? I know we're on duty and..."  
"I think that would be a very good idea, Brackenreid," Giles replied in what sounded very much a conciliatory, if not comforting, tone.

*

"How do you think we play this, George?" Higgins asked with a worried frown.  
"It's a tricky one, Henry," Crabtree nodded. "It must be terrible for Mr Gillies to know that his only son is a murderer. I don't have a child myself, as you know, so I can only try to imagine how he feels. I was..." Crabtree paused as a sudden thought occurred to him. "You know, Henry, I was surprised that he wasn't at the court house this morning."  
"Do you think he's disowned him?" Higgins asked with a sympathetic tone.  
"I don't know, Henry," Crabtree sounded thoughtful. "Don't mention that he wasn't there, I want to see how he reacts."  
"You have suspicions then?" Higgins asked, intrigued as to where Crabtree was heading with his thoughts.  
"Just keeping my mind open," Crabtree replied. "See what comes up. He maybe our only link to Detective Murdoch, I don't want anything to prevent us finding him before it's too late."

Higgins nodded grimly as they approached the Gillies' residence. Knocking on the door, the constables waited only a brief moment until the butler opened the door.

"The staff and tradesmen's entrance is around the back, gentlemen," he announced as he started to close the door.

Stepping forward quickly and blocking its closure, Crabtree spoke firmly:

"And it should be plain to you that we are neither, sir. Constables Crabtree and Higgins to see Mr Gillies."  
"This way, constables," the butler replied stiffly; allowing them entry to the house. "Please wait in the drawing room," he added turning a disapproving stare towards them before walking off in search of Rupert Gillies.

Higgins stifled a chuckle. "That was amazing, George! Well done!" He grinned.  
"Well," Crabtree blushed. "It was no more than the detective would have done."  
"George," Higgins began with a worried frown. "Even if he does let us look around, what are we looking for? I can't see either his son or Detective Murdoch being here."  
"Maybe not, Henry, but don't rule anything out until we have the proof to do so."  
"So, if we don't find anything?"  
"That's not really proof he's not here," Crabtree explained.  
"So we're no better off then, are we? Even if we look around."  
"Henry!" Crabtree felt frustration at the undeniable logic. "We just look and see what we find, okay?"  
"Yes, George, but..."  
"Sorry to have kept you, constables," Rupert Gillies entered the drawing room and Crabtree pulled in a deep relieved breath, glad to have been temporarily rescued from Higgins' accurate but unhelpful comments.  
"Mr Gillies, sir," Crabtree nodded politely. "Constables Crabtree and Higgins. We have a few questions, if you don't mind?"  
"Of course, constables. But first, would you like some refreshment? Tea, perhaps?"  
"No, thank you, sir," Crabtree replied, unexpectedly refusing the offer.  
"Straight down to business then? Please, take a seat, gentlemen," he waved indicating the nearby couches. "What can I do for you?"  
"As you'll no doubt know, sir, your son, James Gillies escaped from the Don Jail this morning."  
"Yes, terrible business," he shook his head. "That boy will be the death of me, I'm sure."  
Crabtree offered a compassionate look before continuing. "Well, sir, I have to ask, have you heard from him at all?"  
"Don't you think I would have contacted you if I had, constable? Clearly your Detective Murdoch doesn't believe it or I'm certain he would be here with you."  
"Well, sir, that's just it," Crabtree shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They had been instructed to keep the abduction as confidential as possible but something, he couldn't be certain what, was making him want to divulge the truth of the situation. "Sir, Detective Murdoch has been abducted, and we believe your son is involved."

Crabtree searched the man's face for any and all silent responses. Rupert Gillies appeared somewhat shaken by the news, initially faltering in his response. 

"Involved?" he asked hesitantly. "Do you mean responsible?"  
"Not entirely, sir," Crabtree continued ambiguously.  
"You think he's working with someone else?"  
"Yes, sir we believe he has an accomplice." 

Crabtree paused; was that concern in his eyes? If so, was it for his son? Detective Murdoch? Did he know the accomplice? Was it him? All these thoughts flashed through his mind in a matter of moments. He pressed on with a small experiment. 

"We think that the accomplice may be an unwitting dupe."

A twitch. 

"Someone who knows what they're doing of course but doesn't realise that Gillies is setting them up for the noose."  
"And who might that be?" Gillies Senior asked with a defensive edge to his tone.   
"Well, sir we hoped you might have some idea," Crabtree replied, expressionless.   
"And just how would I know that, constables?"  
"James has friends, I presume, sir. Or was Mr Perry his only friend?"  
"I believe he was," Rupert Gillies voice seemed suddenly calmer, almost subdued. "I'm afraid I can't help you."  
"Sir, we were hoping that you would allow us to look around?"  
"Do you have a warrant?" He asked stiffly.   
"No, sir..."  
"Then I must insist..."  
"But you've always been so helpful before and your son's actions have always been a torment to you."

Rupert Gillies put a hand to his head as if trying to concentrate. 

"What do you hope to find? Not James, certainly?"  
"No, sir, but something we see may give us some idea of where he might head to, somewhere he might know well."  
"Yes, yes of course, constables. As you see, this whole sordid business continues to disturb me."  
"Of course, sir, we will keep our intrusion to the barest minimum."  
"Thank you. I'll have Heath, my butler, show you around. If you need anything please instruct him. I will make certain that he knows to comply fully."  
"Thank you, Mr Gillies."  
"George?" Higgins whispered as Gillies left the room. "What was all that about? We were told to keep the detective's abduction to ourselves."  
"I know, Henry. But something is off here, don't you feel it? He knows more than he's letting on. I don't know what, but there is something more here."

*

Detective Murdoch pulled on the chain holding his right wrist once more. With a sigh of frustration he accepted that it would neither break nor pull away from the wall without an army of men. Glancing around, he searched desperately for some method of escape or at the very least some way of raising the alarm. On the far wall, a light had come on several minutes earlier and, he presumed, this had signified the arrival of the constables that Rupert Gillies had mentioned. Somewhere upstairs, only a few yards away, he imagined that George and possibly Henry were standing, oblivious to his presence and about to be sent on their way under the reassurance that they would be informed should James Gillies show himself. He grew angry; Rupert Gillies had indeed fooled them all. Very possibly he was more dangerous than even his son. 

Giving into his frustration, Murdoch shouted for help as loudly as he was able, only resulting in making himself cough violently as the material shifted awkwardly over his tongue.

Only a moment or two later, the light on the far wall was switched off. Murdoch's heart sank. Whoever was there had left presumably with the understanding that the ever-helpful Rupert Gillies would call them the moment he heard from his son.

Was there really no way out of this?

Almost immediately, the door at the top of the stairs opened and the slow measured footsteps of an older man, followed by a light impatient step told Murdoch that both of the Gillies men had arrived. As they arrived at the foot of the stairs and walked over, Murdoch searched his mind for something with which he could fight them both. There had to be something that would affect them in equal measure.

"Let me tell you your fate, Detective," Gillies Senior smiled a supercilious smile as, much to Murdoch's relief, he removed the gag. "In my hand I have three red envelopes. In each is described a most unpleasant death. You will choose one to be your own."  
"And if I refuse?" Murdoch replied defiantly.  
"In that instance, I have three blue envelopes, Detective," James Gillies beamed. "In each lies the name of someone close to you. If you refuse to choose your own death, we will choose one of each envelope and whoever is chosen of your closest friends will suffer that death. Will it be Constable Crabtree? Inspector Brackenreid? Or your own dear lady love, Doctor Ogden?"  
"What will it be, detective?" Gillies Senior taunted. "Who is to suffer and how?"


	7. Another murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gillies loses his temper and someone loses their life

Doctor Ogden sighed heavily and pushed the papers to one side.

"I've been no help at all!" She admonished herself.   
"Perhaps you have but you just need to talk it through with someone?" Doctor Grace suggested. "Tell me what you've found."

Doctor Ogden sighed again; what harm could it do? And possibly, Doctor Grace might even be able to contribute some vital suggestions. 

"I considered how William might begin," she nodded to settle into it more. "I began with what we know. James Gillies is the only son of engineer, Rupert Gillies. He is, or was, still studying when first arrested so he has little practical experience of the world but is highly intelligent, particularly in the fields of mathematics and physics. He enjoys games and puzzles of a deadly nature and at first consideration appears to act on them for their own sake.   
"Appears?" Doctor Grace cut in. "Do you think otherwise, Doctor?"  
"William insists that there is a motive for every crime. Gillies' insistence that he was trying out a theory in the murder of Professor Bennett has always troubled William as he believes that there is more to it than Gillies will admit to."  
"Do you have a theory, Doctor?" Dr Grace asked, intrigued and drawn into the discussion.  
"I do," Doctor Ogden smiled, now a little more certain of her thoughts. "James Gillies is what has been termed a psychopath. He displays extreme antisocial behaviour with little concept or acknowledgement of remorse for his actions. Rather than concealing his reasons, such a man would gloat about them."  
"So," Doctor Grace frowned. "Why did he, in this case?"  
"I can think of only one reason for his denial that it was anything more than what he said." Doctor Ogden took a deep breath. "He's protecting someone."  
"He has an accomplice?" Dr Grace's eyes widened.  
"I believe he does," Dr Ogden nodded. "Not necessarily in the murders, as William would have found the evidence, I'm certain. But somewhere in the background, someone is assisting him. For example, someone is helping him escape from prison, finding locations and equipment. William said there was no record of the cage that he was imprisoned in being purchased or delivered anywhere in Toronto. Neither does he know how Gillies... Oh my goodness!" Dr Ogden suddenly exclaimed. "I know who it is!"  
"Who?" Dr Grace asked urgently.   
"I have already determined that it could only be someone he is exceptionally close to, someone he knew would protect him at all costs and would never let him down. His father!" she announced to Dr Grace's surprise. "He is an engineer, he could easily have built the cage and helped him erect it. Also with the practical details of setting up the rest of the trap for poor William. His father is how Gillies keeps escaping; small wonder he's protecting him. Doctor Grace, William is being held by both of them!"  
"We must take this to Inspector Brackenreid at once!"   
"And hope he accepts our reasoning." Dr Ogden reached for her hat. "William is in grave danger indeed."

*

"Okay, George, where are we? Ah yes, King Street." Higgins consulted his notebook. "This one is the Massey Harris Company. They make agricultural equipment."  
"Who is listed as the owner, Henry."  
"It's a Daniel Massey, George. I hope this is it, we only have two left."  
Crabtree nodded. "It looks hopeful, Henry," he replied pointing towards some of the male workforce. "They're all wearing blue shirts and dark caps, just as Miss Fairchild stated."  
"George," Higgins grinned. "I'm thinking of asking Miss Fairchild if she'd go walking in the park with me on Sunday."  
Crabtree smiled. "The sounds lovely, Henry. I'm sure she'll accept."  
"You think so, George?" He asked keenly.   
"How could she not?" He encouraged. "Now, to business, Henry. Let's go inside."

No sooner had they stepped through into the yard than a weathered man easily in his late forties was holding them back. 

"Look out, constables!" He cried as a wagon loaded with equipment trundled past, the horses whinnying under the effort of the load. As the yard cleared, the man dressed exactly as Miss Fairchild had described, smiled at them. "Can I help you with anything, constables?"  
"We were looking for Daniel Massey," Crabtree replied.   
"He's oversees at the moment. I'm Clarke, the Head Foreman, can I be of assistance?"  
"I hope so, sir," Crabtree nodded. "We're looking for two men who assisted at the scene of an accident this morning."  
"Would that be the chap who came off his bicycle?" The man asked, much to the two constables' relief.   
"Yes, sir. Can you tell us any more?"  
"Well, from the police involvement, I'm assuming it was either no accident or you want this man for something?"  
"Very astute of you, sir," Crabtree nodded.   
"Lewis!" The man turned to shout and wave to a another on the far side of the yard before speaking in a much quieter voice to Crabtree and Higgins. "Let's go into Mr Massey's office. It's quieter there."  
"Sir?" A man spoke breathlessly as he ran toward the small group.   
"The constables wish to speak to us about the incident on Adelaide Street this morning. We're going to Mr Massey's office."  
"Of course, sir," Lewis nodded obligingly, as they all headed into the main building. 

Half way down the darkened mahogany panelled hallway, Clarke stopped and opened a half-glassed door similar to that of Detective Murdoch and Inspector Brackenreid's offices.

"In here, constables."  
"Right then, gentlemen," Crabtree opened as Clarke closed the door of the tastefully appointed office. "You saw the accident this morning?"  
"Not me, sir," Lewis replied. "Mr Clarke did but we both stopped to help."  
"How so?"  
"A doctor was there," Clarke added with some uncertainty. "Said he'd take him to hospital. But if it wasn't an accident, why are you questioning us? Do you think we've committed some crime?"  
"We've done nothing, sirs," Lewis fretted. "We just saw a man hurt, that's all?"  
"This man?" Higgins asked as he pulled out the picture of Detective Murdoch.  
"Yes, that's him." Lewis nodded. "Wanted for something, is he?"  
"What happened this morning, constables?" Clarke asked with curiosity in his tone.  
"Sir," Crabtree nodded; it seemed the right thing to do to explain. "This man was abducted this morning. Can you tell me if this is the man who asked you to help him? Higgins, the other picture, if you will?"  
"We didn't abduct nobody!" Lewis was growing ever more upset. "In fact, I said, didn't I, Mr Clarke?"  
"Yes, you did!" Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Yes, constables, that is the man we spoke to," he began as he looked at the picture. "But as Lewis says, he remarked to me at the time that his moustache didn't seem real somehow."  
"That's right," Lewis nodded.  
"I didn't notice, myself and paid no mind at the time. There was no indication that it was any more than an accident. He was a wealthy man too judging by the reward he gave us."  
"Mr Clarke, Mr Lewis," Crabtree narrowed his eyes. "Do either of you still have that money on your person?"  
"Yes, we just put it in our pockets and came straight to the factory," Clarke replied. "Three dollars each, all in silver."  
"Could we borrow the money, gentlemen? Just for a short time, to check for finger marks."  
"We will get it back?" Clarke asked, his head tilted in suspicion.  
"Oh, yes, sir," Crabtree reassured him. "Every penny, I promise you."  
"We want receipts," Clarke insisted as Higgins held out his handkerchief to the two men to drop the coins in.  
"Yes, of course," Crabtree began scribbling out a receipt for them on his notebook, the carbon beneath taking a copy for himself.  
"Crabtree," Higgins pointed at the picture he had been pondering over for a few moments. "You know who that would be without the moustache?"  
"Oh my goodness, Henry, you're right!" Crabtree looked up. "Thank you, gentlemen. You've been of great assistance."

Both constables rose quickly and headed once more out into the daylight.

"Higgins, you get back to the station house and inform the Inspector and Chief Constable. Also, start checking the coins for finger marks. I'm going back to the Gillies house. I knew there was more to that than met the eye!"  
"Be careful, George."

*

"I..." Murdoch paused to try to ease the pain and dryness inside his mouth. "I thought there were to be no games?" He commented hoarsely.  
"I have decided to indulge my son, Detective. Is that not what any father would do in this situation?"  
"This situation?" Murdoch raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid the parents I know must move in different circles. To the best of my knowledge no one I am acquainted with has abducted or murdered anyone."

Rupert Gillies smiled; Murdoch was a brave man, certainly, but this moment belonged to him, not the detective. 

"The envelopes, Detective, which will you choose?"  
"Of course," Murdoch continued, ignoring the question. "If not from you, I suppose James must have inherited his flair for the dramatic from his mother. Wouldn't you say, Mr Gillies?"  
"My wife is dead," Gillies Senior replied abruptly. "Lost at sea."  
"That isn't true, is it Mr Gillies? Your wife walked out on you fifteen years ago. That must have been embarrassing for a man of your station. Why was that do you think?"  
"Father?" James Gillies turned a confused gaze towards the older man.  
"Ignore him, James. He's trying to turn you against me."  
"But I don't need to try, do I Gillies? Your wife watched you beat and berate your son as a small child, and when your daughter was born she refused to watch you do the same to her. Twisting her mind as you did with James."  
"What's he talking about?" James Gillies looked from one to the other. "Father!"  
"She's dead!" Gillies Senior snapped harshly.  
"No, she isn't, I spoke with her. When your son was sentenced to hang, she came to the station house. She tried to plead for his life but it was too late. She gave me the details of his upbringing, of your cruelty. She said that you should hang instead. You were the one who made him. I believe she used the phrase: 'In your own twisted image.'"  
"So what if she is still alive? She's dead to me!" He screamed in reply.

A rage had built in Rupert Gillies eyes, such as Murdoch had never before witnessed. Bracing himself for the release of all that aggression, Murdoch pressed himself back against the wall as the older man launched himself toward him.

A loud cracking sound filled the air, the noise bouncing off every wall. The heavy silence that filled the cellar immediately after was thick with tension. In the smallest fraction of a second that followed the noise, Gillies Senior had crumpled to the floor, and Murdoch had, on instinct, pulled his legs out of the way to avoid being crushed under the weight of the falling body. Standing over them both, James Gillies held the small handgun, barrel still smoking and still pointed at his father.

Having hoped to elicit a heated and distracting exchange between the two men, Murdoch was still shocked to see the body of one of his captors lying at his feet, his blood oozing freely from the gaping wound in his abdomen, running in rivulets in all directions.

Taking slow deep breaths, James Gillies' stare remained on his father's body until the sound of the cellar door opening tore his attention away.

"Mr Gillies! Sir! Are you...?" Heath, the butler stared down at the scene before him uncertain how to react. His employer lay dead, his son James standing over him and a man was seated on the floor, chained to the wall. This man he had seen before. He had been to the house on a previous occasion. Most likely the man the two constables were looking for.

"Master James?"

James Gillies sighed before looking up and firing a second shot. Murdoch's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the butler appearing to fold before falling to the bottom of the staircase. The shooting of Rupert Gillies, he was prepared to believe was one of uncontrolled anger. But the ease with which Gillies had chosen to murder the butler was frightening. Turning his eyes back towards the helpless detective, Gillies offered an impassive stare.

"I'm going to have to rethink your fate, detective. None of my previous ideas are sufficient now. You deserve a new level of suffering. And I think I know how to start."

Walking slowly over to the chair on which Murdoch's jacket was draped, Gillies fished in the pockets until he found the tools for picking locks. Carefully pacing out the furthest distance that Murdoch could reach, he placed the kit on the floor.

"If you can escape, Detective, I will gladly give myself up, otherwise, you lose your life. But not before everyone you care for has lost theirs. Do you understand?"  
"Gillies, give yourself up now, you can't hope to achieve anything from this."  
"Oh, but I will, Detective, I promise you. Before the last of your friends dies, you will give me the location of my mother and sister. I want to know how she saw fit to abandon me."

Murdoch reeled at the response. His idea had backfired horribly. Not only was he now in a worse position, but two men were dead and more people, including those he cared most about, were now also at risk. 

"I'll leave you to think on that, Detective," Gillies gave a light laugh and waved his hand in a flamboyant farewell. Stepping over the body of the butler, Gillies headed back upstairs, the spring in his step as light as when he had descended. 

Murdoch looked with desperation at the lock picking kit. He had to find a way to reach it before anyone else got hurt.


	8. Constable Crabtree, won't you come in?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctors relay their findings to Brackenreid and George returns to Gillies' home

Doctors Ogden and Grace ran the short distance from the morgue; raising their skirts in order to move quickly, they solicited more than one set of raised eyebrows and disapproving stares as they passed.

"Doctor Ogden, Doctor Grace! Is anything wrong? Can I help you?" Constable Jackson asked stepping out from behind the front desk as the two women rushed in. "Are you all right, ladies?"  
"We must speak to Inspector Brackenreid immediately," Dr Ogden explained hurriedly.  
"Ma'am, he's with Chief..."  
"It's regarding Detective Murdoch. It's most urgent."  
"Ma'am," Jackson nodded. "I'll take you both through."

Leading the women through to the Inspector's office, Jackson knocked politely before opening the door.

"Sirs..." Was all he managed to say.  
"We are in a private meeting, Constable," Giles snapped as his head turned sharply towards him.  
"Gentlemen," Dr Ogden began in a confident, assertive tone, "I believe we have some insight into Detective Murdoch's abduction."

Giles' reaction was an expression that seemed surprising mixture of curiosity and scepticism. Brackenreid was first to react, stepping forward and ushering the two doctors further inside the office. 

"Thank you, Jackson," he nodded, patting the constable's shoulder on his way out. "Good lad," he added his approval. "So, Doctors, what have you found?"  
"Using my knowledge of psychiatry," Doctor Ogden began, only to see Giles take a deep, undisguised breath. "And my personal knowledge of Gillies," she added more forcefully, almost demanding attention, "we have deduced that..."  
"Deduced?" Giles would have sounded mocking if he didn't obviously disapprove. "You're starting to sound like Murdoch."  
"I think at least one of us should, don't you agree?" She retorted immediately. "As I was saying," she continued without pausing for a response. "Gillies' repeated escapes and elaborate plans rely on another party to assist him. Originally he had Robert Perry to assist him but since then he has escaped and conjured ever more elaborate plans to exact his revenge on Detective Murdoch. I believe that to accomplish all this, he must have an accomplice. Someone he can rely on implicitly with the skills and intelligence to assist him. Inspector, Chief Constable, I believe that man is Gillies' father."

Giles' brow creased noticeably at the idea and a deep frown formed. Looking toward Brackenreid, he tilted his head. He knew that Rupert Gillies had always been quite vocally appalled by his son's behaviour and keen to assist the police, but Giles had a keen policing mind and knew what an ideal cover that would be.

"Brackenreid, what do you think? You have most experience with him, is Rupert Gillies capable of maintaining such a pretence over so long a period, would you say?"  
Brackenreid pondered the question before nodding, slowly at first, then more decisively. "If we're saying 'like father like son' then, yes. He could quite easily be just as big a bastard as that son of his! Oh... Er, excuse me, doctors," he added, his eyes giving away his discomfort at the stern glare from his superior.  
"That's quite all right, Inspector," Dr Ogden replied, with Dr Grace nodding her agreement with a polite smile. " There is one other thing to consider, gentlemen. As I'm sure you'll agree, Detective Murdoch has always told me that there is no motiveless crime. Therefore, I believe that if my theory is correct, there will be some connection between Rupert Gillies and Professor Bennett. Perhaps some deeply held grudge or, in all honesty, depending on the severity of the psychosis, it could even be as small as a personal slight."  
"He told me after his son's trial that Bennett had been an objectionable man," Brackenreid frowned, raising his hand, pointing at the air as the memory returned to him. "That he confronted him one day about some supposed transgression James had made in his class and that Bennett had told him to stay out of class matters. I believe he said that Bennett had told him that it didn't concern him. That he was biased and almost certainly ill-equipped intellectually to understand the details of what had taken place. I remember thinking at the time that it must have been a blazing row that the pair had because it didn't square with everyone else's recollection of Professor Bennett as being well-mannered and, while tough on his students, a pleasant, likeable man."  
Doctor Ogden nodded. "My guess would be that Bennett may have humiliated James Gillies in some way, perhaps unintentionally. For a personality such as his, even being informed publicly that he was wrong about something might have been enough."  
"And Rupert Gillies stepped in to defend him aggressively but Bennett stood his ground. A position that clearly infuriated him." Giles nodded thoughtfully before asking what none of them could answer for certain. "The question now becomes, if both Gillies men do have Murdoch, where are they holding him?"

*

It had been so long since he had last tried to stretch his aching arms and Detective Murdoch knew it would be difficult to try again but even he was taken aback by the severity of the pain that encompassed his shoulders with even the slightest movement. On the one hand he knew he had so little time available to him, but if his current pain level was any guide, he suspected that any sudden movement would likely have him spiralling into unconsciousness once more. 

Gingerly he moved the fingers of his right hand, repeating the motion with his left as, to his relief, there was no increase in his discomfort. Moving his wrist proved equally possible but the involvement of his right elbow brought a marked increase in his degree of suffering, but so far remaining as a dull but widespread ache. As it stood, it was bearable but any more would be a challenge, and he was well aware that he could expect more, almost certainly significantly more. Steeling himself, he began to slowly extend his left elbow.   
Immediately, the muscles around his shoulder gripped in a tight spasm; his body's own defence mechanism against what it sensed would be excruciating pain. Murdoch's face contorted in agony as his whole arm seemed to lock in defiance of him, holding him on the brink of torture. 

A white-hot stabbing sensation spread across his upper back and into his neck, swamping his concentration with agonising searing pulses. His eyes rolled back and he heard the rushing of blood inside his own ears. Aware that he was on the verge of passing out, Murdoch closed his fingers in a tight fist, digging his nails into his palm and turned all his thoughts and effort into simply remaining conscious.

After what felt an age, his racked body began to feel a dullness wash over it reducing the stabbing sensation to a stinging then down to a throbbing ache. Now, with some of his focus returned, he began to concentrate as hard as he was able on forcing himself to relax. His only release would be to ease the spasm in his muscles to prevent his shoulder-blades from rising still further. But even as he was realising this, the tightness was already increasing with each clipped breath and Murdoch knew he was fighting a losing battle. The worst of the agony would, of course, come from extending his shoulders, but he had no choice. He knew he would simply have to bite the bullet.

Closing his eyes, he grimaced as he fought against the debilitating and excruciating pain across his back and shoulders that now shot in repeated sharp shocks into his neck and head as he tried to move his entire right arm. Gasping as the severity of the pain took his breath away, Murdoch's head flopped back against the wall causing further distress as the bruising from Gillies' earlier attack caused a blinding pulse to spread behind his eyes. 

Twisting, almost collapsing, his body to the left so that all the effort didn't have to come from his shoulder, Murdoch drew his legs into his chest and closed his eyes so tightly that tears of anguish and frustration dampened his lashes. He couldn't stop now; he had to keep going. All the suffering he had already endured would be for nothing if he gave in now. Snatching at a breath, a tight sound emerged from his lips that grew into a desperate scream as he straightened his arm as far as the chains would allow. Slumping forward as the muscles of his right arm finally responded to the movement and the pain slowly subsided caused him once again to groan as his left shoulder objected to the sudden motion. Pressing himself back against the wall, exhausted and weak, Murdoch turned to look at the left arm, hidden through a misty veil of unbidden tears. Swallowing hard he repeated the action, biting down on his lip to muffle the sound of his tortured cries. Finally with both shoulders mobile, he gently rolled both, alternately back and forth and as the pain subsided he wiped his eyes. Pulling shuddering unsteady breaths into his lungs as his body recovered from the shock, Murdoch allowed his eyes to survey the room. There had to be a way to escape and he was determined to find it.

*

George Crabtree stood across the street from Gillies' home. Somewhere in that building was the man who had abducted Detective Murdoch, possibly even the detective himself. Briefly he became aware that he was alone. Yes, Higgins had returned to the station house to inform the inspector and chief constable so it seemed likely that he wouldn't be alone for long but in the first instance, he had the element of surprise. Rupert Gillies would have no knowledge of his suspicions. He would return under the pretext of having additional questions, none of which would even suggest that he considered that Gillies was involved. 

Crossing the street, Crabtree's mind raced as he pondered a convincing line of questioning that hadn't yet been covered and, more importantly, didn't hint at Rupert Gillies' involvement. As he approached the door, a movement at the curtain in the drawing room caught his eye. Someone, presumably Gillies himself or more likely the butler, Heath, had seen him approach. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Looking down at his shoes, he braced himself for another confrontation with the obnoxious butler. He didn't like to be unkind or abrupt with anyone; it was simply not in his nature and he couldn't fathom why anyone else felt the need. But, as he had on so many occasions experienced, not everyone felt the same way.

Looking up as the door opened, Crabtree blanched as he saw the gun pointed directly at him.

"Constable Crabtree," James Gillies smirked. "I saw you approach and I just had to greet you personally. Won't you come in?"  
"You won't shoot me on the doorstep," Crabtree's voice sounded much braver than he felt.  
"You're certain of that, are you, Constable? I do owe you a bullet, after all."  
"You'll attract attention."  
"You mean I'll be arrested?" He laughed. "We both know how that always works out, don't we? No, you step inside, Crabtree or after shooting you, I'll kill your detective."  
"Detective Murdoch is here?" Crabtree replied with surprise, much to Gillies amusement.  
"Of course, you clearly didn't search the place very well, did you? You didn't find either of us. But then you are just a simple constable. Come in. Let me take you to him, I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you."

With a tightly clenched jaw, Crabtree stepped through the threshold. Even though the gun was held in Gillies' left hand, his right still in a sling from the gunshot wound, Crabtree couldn't be certain that he could overpower him without being badly hurt or worse. And what then? What would become of Detective Murdoch? No, better to place his faith in Higgins and Station House Four. As the door closed behind him he felt the gun jabbed hard into his ribs pushing him forward. Grimly, he complied; what else could he do?


	9. Break out the armoury!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is taken down to the cellar, but help is on the way

"We'll, now, Constable," Gillies laughed, "where did you forget to look?"

Crabtree walked ahead silently, occasionally prodded forward by Gillies' gun.

"Come now, Constable Crabtree, will you not even guess? We're almost there."  
"I don't know," he muttered quietly.  
"Stop," Gillies ordered as they reached what was once a doorway, but was now bricked up and plastered over. "You didn't try the cellar."

Crabtree turned and aimed a puzzled eye towards Gillies; it was obvious to anyone that the doorway had long since gone out of use.

"It's solid brick and plaster, I tried it," he replied. "Do you think I'm stupid?"  
"Yes," Gillies laughed again, "I do. But it's only to be expected, I suppose. Just because you work with a genius, doesn't make you one too. And of course, even Detective Murdoch is less of a genius than I am."  
"I doubt that, Gillies; he's always got the better of you," Crabtree snapped back then immediately wished he hadn't as Gillies swept the barrel of the gun across his left temple causing him to collapse back against the wall. Automatically, his hand went protectively to the side of his head as his vision blurred and his senses reeled from the blow. Momentarily his legs gave from under him and now his hands went instinctively to the dado rail to help support his weight. As his right hand pressed down, a section of the rail gave way and the wall within the doorframe moved slowly backwards and to the side, revealing a flight of stairs.

"A secret panel?" Crabtree remarked as his mind cleared once more.  
"Ah, if only you'd had the sense to try that when you were here earlier," Gillies mocked. "You know my father was an engineer, Constable, and yet you never put the two together. He assisted me in all my ventures. How else do you think we got the good detective here? Now, downstairs, if you will."

Crabtree inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Gillies didn't seem to realise that they had worked out that Rupert Gillies had been involved in his son's crimes. He and Higgins had even realised that it was he who had abducted Detective Murdoch. Now, as he descended the stairs reluctantly, he knew that Higgins was on his way back to Station House Four. Rescue was at hand, provided of course that they found the entrance to the cellar. The chances seemed slim, but he had to believe.

"Detective Murdoch!" He cried as he saw the detective chained to the far wall of the cellar.  
"George!" Murdoch cried hopefully, peering through the gloom toward the staircase only to have his hopes dashed as he saw the smirking face of Gillies walking behind the constable, gun in hand. "Are you all right, George? You're bleeding." Murdoch asked, concerned by what he could see.  
"I'm fine, sir," Crabtree confirmed in a somewhat dulled tone, raising an eye in the direction that the gun had crashed so painfully against his temple. He couldn't see the bleeding, obviously, but he wasn't remotely surprised by it.  
"How very touching!" Gillies chuckled. "But maybe not for long," he added, shoving Crabtree from behind.

Losing his footing and with nothing to hold onto, the constable fell forward. Stretching his arms out to break his fall, he landed heavily on his left hand, emitting a sharp cry of pain as he pulled it into his body for protection. Continuing down the stone steps, he seemed to roll and tumble like a rag doll, tossed carelessly down, coming to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the staircase, stopping only as he collided with the body of Heath, the butler still lying at the foot of the stairs.

"George!" Murdoch cried, straining on the chains, desperate to see if his colleague and friend was even still alive. "George!"

Gillies laughed loudly, almost uncontrollably at the sight of Constable Crabtree lying at an awkward angle at the bottom of the stairs. Detective Murdoch's obvious concern only seemed to amuse him more.

"What's the matter, Detective? He's had a soft landing," he continued to laugh at his own sick joke. "He should be fine. In fact, I sincerely hope he is."  
"Why?" Murdoch snapped angrily, through gritted teeth. "So you can hurt him more?"  
"Not at all, Detective," he grinned as he stepped over Crabtree. "So I can hurt you more. You see, I've long since realised what motivates you, and more, what hurts you. Isn't that true, Detective? I know what hurts you, but you have no concept of what hurts me! You can't beat me, Detective Murdoch, because you simply don't know me well enough. But you? You're transparent. You're much less challenging than I thought you'd be. A little disappointing, if I'm honest."  
"You always think that, and that is always your undoing."

Now standing over Murdoch, Gillies reached down and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up.

"That may have been true in the past, Detective, but not this time. No, this time, I have you exactly where I want you and not a soul can help you. I realise my mistake last time was allowing you movement. This time," he snarled, sharply pushing Murdoch's head back against the wall. The injury from earlier caused a further spike of pain that almost obliterated Gillies' words as he continued. "This time, I'll stop you moving, I'll stop you thinking, I'll stop you breathing!"

He paused as he stared in Murdoch's eyes, looking for signs of fear. Desperate not to give him satisfaction, Murdoch stared impassively back, gritting his teeth with determination. Contrary to what he expected, Gillies threw his head back, letting loose a cacophony of raucous laughter.

"Oh, Detective," he grinned, gently slapping Murdoch's cheek, "if I didn't find you so amusing, I would be very angry indeed. But perhaps I do need to teach you a lesson?" Interrupted by groaning noises behind him, Gillies paused. "However, first I'll deal with your lapdog."

Murdoch heaved a relieved sigh as Crabtree slowly moved a hand to his head as he came to.  
"He's still alive," Murdoch looked past Gillies, the tension in his body easing at the sight.  
"For now," Gillies replied as he stood. "All that means is he's left me the job of killing him for later, hasn't he?"   
"Gillies, let him go," Murdoch pleaded. "I'm the one you want. Kill me."  
Gillies smile broadened into a grin as he dragged the still semi-conscious Crabtree over to the far wall, only yards away from Murdoch, and binding his hands and feet tightly. "Oh, I will, Detective, I promise you. But I can keep you alive for a very long time, while I kill all your friends... slowly. Bear in mind, Detective, that you brought this on yourself. Remember as each one dies that this is entirely your fault."

*

Racing through Station House Four's duty room, Constable Higgins barged straight into Inspector Brackenreid's office without even pausing to knock, throwing the door open with such force as to cause the glass to rattle loudly.

"Sirs!" He began breathlessly.  
"Higgins!" Brackenreid began only to halt his angry response before it had even begun. There was something about the concern in the eyes of the breathless constable that demanded attention. "What is it, lad?" He asked.  
"Sirs, Doctors, it's Rupert Gillies. He has Detective Murdoch!"

Withdrawing the now slightly crumpled drawing of the man that witnesses claimed they had seen. Quickly he smoothed it out and handed it to Inspector Brackenreid.

"Sir, one of the witnesses stated that he thought the moustache looked false. See, sir, without the moustache... It's Rupert Gillies."  
"Good work, Higgins," Brackenreid reached behind him for his hat. "This is the proof we've been waiting for."  
"Inspector," Giles cut in, "we still don't know where Gillies is holding him. If we go in now, we may never find him."  
"Sir, if we don't go in now, he may be dead when we do!"

Giles sighed in frustration; there seemed to be no easy solution, no definite right thing to do.

"Brackenreid," he nodded calmly. "You know both of these men much better than I do. What is your recommendation?"  
"We go in, arrest Rupert Gillies and get him to tell us where Murdoch is. Beat it out of him if necessary!"

Giles rolled his eyes; Brackenreid's less than subtle methods combined with his obvious concern for the detective left little room for coherent thought.

"Think man!" He retorted. "If we arrest Rupert Gillies, his son will most likely kill Murdoch anyway."  
"We can't do nothing!" Brackenreid protested.  
"Where's Crabtree?" Giles asked, with a creased brow.  
"He's returned to the Gillies house, sir."  
"Returned, why?" The Chief Constable pressed.  
"Sir, Gillies has no idea that we suspect him. George... I mean Constable Crabtree thought that if he could take more of his time with additional questions that the detective would remain unharmed and he might even get to have another look around."  
"The bloody idiot's going to get himself killed!" Brackenreid stormed. "Doesn't he realise that if they are both there, he's put himself in a house alone with two murderers?"  
"I... I don't think he was thinking about that, sir. Neither of us were. We just wanted to help Detective Murdoch."

Brackenreid sighed and put a hand to his head in frustration. The men were loyal, there was no doubt about it, but placing themselves so recklessly in danger helped no one.

"Higgins, break out the armoury."  
"Sir!" Higgins replied, turning on his heels.  
"Chief Constable, I know it's a risk, but it's one we have to take. We don't have a choice."  
"Your mens' rash actions have forced the issue. There will be consequences when this is over."  
"Those consequences I can accept, sir, but not the ones we will certainly have if we do nothing."  
"Very well," Giles replied with a brief nod as Higgins and three other constables returned armed with hand guns and rifles. "Doctors, you will remain here."  
"We most certainly will not!" Doctor Ogden replied indignantly.  
"You will not interfere with a police matter, Doctors. It's not safe for you. Now please wait here!"

Doctors Ogden and Grace watched, their expressions pinched with anger, as the men headed for the door. Watching them leave, Doctor Grace turned with an expression that was simultaneously worried and infuriated toward Doctor Ogden.

"I don't want to wait."   
"We're not going to!" Doctor Ogden replied, still brimming with outrage, bringing a relieved smile to Doctor Grace's lips. Grabbing a handful of her voluminous skirt, she nodded decisively before leading the way. "Let's go."


	10. Escape?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoch and George have a plan!

"George?" Murdoch called, rolling his shoulders as he spoke to maintain the movement and blood flow to his arms. "George!"  
"Sir?" Crabtree replied, his voice croaky and with forced attentiveness.  
"Are you all right, George?"  
"I've had better days, Detective," he replied, trying desperately to retain his humour despite their dire circumstance. "My helmet came off when I reached the bottom of the stairs, sir, but I think it protected me as I fell."

Murdoch heaved a sigh of relief; the good old constable's helmet doing the job it was designed for.

"Can you move, George?"  
"Not easily, sir," Crabtree frowned. "What do you need?"

Murdoch smiled; even despite the terrible situation in which they found themselves, Constable Crabtree was ever loyal and willing to help in any way.

"Can you see, lying between us, my lock-picking kit? Gillies placed it there to taunt me, but with your arrival, he seems to have forgotten all about it. Can you get to it?"  
"More likely, sir, he doesn't think we can do anything about it anyway."  
"Well, he's wrong then, isn't he, George?" Murdoch stated in a rallying tone.  
"That, he is, sir," he answered, picking up on the sentiment and replying with a confidence and surety that he hadn't thought possible under the circumstances. "Let me try."

Despite his aching muscles, Crabtree tried to shuffle over towards the kit, only to cry out as he pushed himself backwards.

"What is it, George?" Murdoch asked quickly, a look of deep concern furrowing his brow.  
"Sir, my left wrist. At least I think it's my left. It seems silly, but because they're tied together so tightly, I can't seem to work out which is hurting."   
"That's perfectly normal, George."  
"I'm not sure I can pick it up, sir," Crabtree added apologetically.  
"Don't worry about that, George. Can you make it over here? Perhaps I can untie you?"  
"I'll try, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Crabtree clamped his jaw tightly and thought about the logistics of moving roughly ten or twelve feet. He lay on his front and knew he would have to turn onto his side to make the shuffling movement possible. 

"George," Murdoch cut into his thoughts. "It might be easier if you could turn to face me, then you'd be on your right side. It should be easier to move forward than back and there would be less pressure on your left wrist."  
"Yes, sir," Crabtree replied, grateful that the initial problem had been solved for him. "I was just thinking along those lines," he added.

Rolling over onto his right side, he teetered slightly as at first he struggled to maintain his balance. Once settled, and forcing himself to ignore the dull ache at his wrists, he began to shuffle his feet and knees in an attempt to turn around to face the detective.

"That's it, George, you're doing well," Murdoch encouraged, masking his concern over the young constable's pallor.  
"Nearly facing you, sir," Crabtree managed to spit the words out between snatches of breath.

Finally with the pair facing each other, Detective Murdoch could see the strain and effort Crabtree had gone through to merely to turn around. That had only been part of the battle. Now he had to try to shuffle over to the wall where Murdoch was seated and to try to kneel. It was a tall order, but Murdoch had faith in Crabtree's ability, not just to try, but in his determination to see it through no matter what the odds.

"You can do this, George," he encouraged.  
"Of course, sir," Crabtree nodded. "I just need to get my breath back."

Resisting the urge to press the matter, Murdoch pulled his lips into a thin line. He knew Crabtree was doing absolutely the best he could; the best anyone could. Pushing him into moving before he was ready would help neither of them. Now, not only could he see his pale, almost grey skin, but he could see the drying blood caked to his temple and down his cheek. Grateful that he had not simply passed out again, Murdoch waited with anticipation for him to find the energy to begin to move again.

It wasn't long, possibly only a few minutes, but it had felt like an eternity to both of them. Swinging his legs forward roughly six inches, he followed the motion with an awkward shuffling of his shoulder, grimacing as the action pulled sharply on his bound wrists.

"Sir, I think it may be broken." He announced breathlessly after he had managed to travel a few feet toward the detective.  
"You may be right, George, but..."  
"I know, sir, keep going."  
"If you can," Murdoch replied, both sympathetically and hopefully.  
"I will, sir. I'll be there presently."

With grim determination etched on his increasingly pallid features, Crabtree edged closer and closer. Finally after just over ten minutes, he arrived at Murdoch's side.

"I'm sorry, George, I can't lower my arms to help you. Can you sit up?"  
"It might take some doing, sir, but, yes, I'm sure I can." Turning a grave expression towards the detective, he added: "I have to."

Murdoch nodded pensively as Crabtree tried to lift himself from his position on the floor but with no leverage to push himself upright, he seemed to be fighting a losing battle. With every attempt, he simply flopped back down again. 

"George, I have an idea," Murdoch began, "but it might hurt," he added apologetically.  
"It can't hurt much more than what I'm doing, sir," Crabtree almost laughed. "What do you suggest?"  
"Try bringing your knees close up to your chest and rolling up, keeping your head on the floor. That way, you keep your centre of gravity in a confined area and you allow your abdominal muscles to do the bulk of the work."  
"My abdomen isn't noted for its strength, Detective." Despite their predicament, Crabtree managed a lighthearted comment.  
"Trust me, George. It might take a few attempts but it will work."  
"I'll give it a try, sir."

Murdoch frowned as the first two attempts failed and with them, Crabtree grew obviously weaker.

"George, do you want to rest?"  
"No, sir," he replied with a determined tone. "This is the one."

It appeared as if, once again, he might roll back to the floor, but a last minute burst of strength, held him in position before dragging himself upright with a grunt of effort.

"Sir!" He gasped as, on his knees, he shuffled himself into position alongside the detective.

The rope had been pulled tight, certainly, but it was thick enough for Detective Murdoch to take a firm hold and almost immediately, one end was starting to slide past the other as the knot loosened. Working as fast as he could, Murdoch couldn't help but notice the regular flinching as either his own hand or the rope tugged at Crabtree's left wrist. But in less than two minutes, the rope was falling to the floor.

"George, your wrist, how is it?"  
"I'm sure it'll be fine," he replied, dismissive of the now swollen and bruised hand. "I'll get you the kit."  
"Thank you, George," Murdoch replied, both grateful and impressed at the constable's determination. "We will get out of this."

Pulling both shackles towards each other, Murdoch was rewarded with a stroke of luck - the two lengths of chain were just long enough for him to reach the opposite lock. Selecting a pick and a tension rod from the kit, Murdoch placed the rod in Crabtree's right hand. 

"I need you to place this inside the lock, George."  
"What do I do with it, sir? I've never done this before," the constable admitted.  
"Do you feel the tumblers?" Murdoch prompted.  
"I think so, sir."  
"Very good, press down on the second, while I manipulate the first."  
"Sir, how do I know if..."

A distinct click was heard and Murdoch smiled appreciatively at the constable who grinned back. Finally something was working well for them.

"Just two more to go on this one, George."

*

From a discreet location further down the street, Inspector Brackenreid stared intently at Rupert Gillies' house.

"He's in there," he growled.  
"Crabtree?" Giles queried.  
"Yes, Crabtree, obviously, but Murdoch's in there too."  
"How could you possibly know that?" Giles asked scornfully.  
"Because if he wasn't, Gillies would have let Crabtree wander around to his heart's content and he'd have found nothing. The very fact Crabtree's still in there tells me Gillies has something to hide and that something is Detective Murdoch!"

Chief Constable Giles gave a deep frown and nodded.

"I have to accept your logic, Inspector. But now we need to get in there and find them before either of the Gillies men take any action against them. Do you have any suggestions?"  
Brackenreid nodded decisively. "While Crabtree is in there, James Gillies will be in hiding. We go in, arrest Rupert Gillies and tear the place apart. There are enough of us, we can do it."  
"We don't have a warrant, Inspector," Giles remarked growing tired of Brackenreid's bull-headed approach.   
"Bollocks to a warrant!" He snapped back, receiving a harsh glare in return making him rephrase. "Sir, I mean we have enough suspicion to give us just cause."  
"And if we find nothing?"  
"With respect, sir, we've had this conversation already and we went around in circles with it! I'm telling you, sir, Murdoch is locked up somewhere in that house! For all we know, Crabtree is too! And I'm not going to sit back and watch while some lunatic kills two of my best men!"  
"My concern is with safety also, Inspector but that includes yours and the safety of your men here. But, I agree," his voice calmed suddenly. "I accept your reading of the situation." Giles nodded. "What are your instructions?"  
"Sir?" Brackenreid queried.  
"These are your men, Inspector. As I told you before, I too am following your lead for this case."  
"Right!" Brackenreid drew himself up to his full height and nodded. "Sir, you, Jenkins and Price head for the rear of the property. Higgins, Jackson, we'll find a way in at the front. Anyone so much as moves, arrest them! Don't let anyone touch any gadgets, trip wires or devices of any sort. Anyone points a weapon, shoot them. These two men are more intelligent than almost anyone you will ever have met, but don't be intimidated by them. Remember that they have our men in there and," Brackenreid paused, "we are fully prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure they remain safe. Any questions?" 

A short silent pause was all it took.

"Right, does everyone know where they need to be and what to do?"

A series of nods and murmurs of agreement followed.

"I said, do you know what you're doing?"  
"Yes, Inspector," Higgins was the first to reply, but other similar responses followed almost immediately after.  
"Good, lets get Murdoch and Crabtree out of there unharmed and James Gillies and his father under lock and key."

*

Less than a hundred yards from the corner where she and Dr Grace had left their carriage, Doctor Ogden came to an abrupt halt and she found herself frozen to the spot, her heart racing and the heat of a rush of adrenaline flushing her cheeks.

"Doctor Ogden?" Dr Grace queried the sudden stop, repeating herself as she received no reply. "Doctor Ogden, what's wrong?"  
"Nothing," Doctor Ogden shook her head, apparently distressed by something but unwilling to say what.  
"Doctor... Julia, this is clearly not nothing. What is it?"  
"I..." Dr Ogden's expression gave away her difficulty concentrating. "He's in there."  
"Who?" Dr Grace asked. "Detective Murdoch? George?"

Dr Ogden took a few deep breaths to settle her unexpected anxiety. Finally nodding, she turned toward Dr Grace to explain.

"Forgive me, but even after numerous treatment sessions, the sight of James Gillies still affects me in the most shocking and unexpected ways."  
"He's there? You saw him?" Dr Grace asked, turning to face the house. "Where? Did he see us?"  
"In the upstairs window, second from the right. And no, I don't think he saw us, he seemed to be watching something... Inspector Brackenreid! He knows they're coming!"  
"We have to warn them," Dr Grace turned to look further down the street to try to see the group of policemen, but they were already gone.  
"Indeed," Dr Ogden agreed. 

Without need for further words, both women once again hitched up their skirts and began to run to the site that they had seen the police carriages stop.


	11. "Maybe it is about to get dramatic after all?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone arrives at Gillies' house to find it booby trapped, but who will find Murdoch first?

Inspector Brackenreid pounded on the door only to pause, disconcerted, as it swung quickly open under the force of his insistent fist. About to step through the threshold, Brackenreid was held back by a hand on his arm.

"Inspector," Higgins began, his tone one of caution. "Sir, this doesn't look good."  
"The door's open, Higgins, we don't have to break it down. What more do you want? An invitation to tea?" Brackenreid snapped.  
"No, sir, I want less," he continued. "This doesn't feel right. It's like we're expected."  
"Of course we're expected, Higgins. This bastard is on his home turf. He's expecting us all right, but we go in, find him and take him down by whatever means necessary. What else would we do, man?"  
"Sir, I agree but..."

Brackenreid strode forward into the entrance hall, unheeding of Higgins' warning. As he did, he heard a faint click somewhere off to his right and only Higgins' quick reactions prevented the blade from piercing his heart.

"Sir!" Higgins cried as he rushed forward, unceremoniously shoving the inspector to one side. 

Crashing into the wall, Brackenreid lost his footing and fell quickly and inelegantly to the floor. Immediately turning to look up, the inspector aimed a harsh, angry glare at the young constable, but his eyes softened and his jaw dropped open slightly at the sight of Constable Jackson slowly lowering Higgins to his knees, a dagger protruding from somewhere midway between his collarbone and his upper arm.

"Higgins!" The inspector cried, uncharacteristically lost for words for a moment. "Are you all right? How...?" 

It had all happened in a matter of moments, leaving Brackenreid both confused and grateful to Higgins for his quick reactions. But everything was overshadowed by the expression on the young constable's rapidly paling face as he gasped for breath against the pain. 

"Look, sir, there was a trip wire," Jackson explained, pointing to the wire, but barely taking his eyes from Constable Higgins as if he was terrified to look away should the worst happen. "Sir, what do I do?"  
"Whatever you do, don't pull the knife out."  
"But sir?" Jackson finally tore his eyes away from Higgins in surprise at the comment.  
"If an artery's been nicked, that knife is the only thing keeping the whole lot from tearing." Brackenreid took a deep breath. "Go, find a doctor, I'll stay with him."  
"But, Detective Murdoch, sir?" Jackson protested as the situation began to slip out of their control.  
"Jackson," Brackenreid spoke with a clipped tone that was a combination of concern and frustration. "Find a doctor. But first, run to the back," he suddenly appeared almost as pale as Higgins. "Warn the Chief Constable that the door is almost certainly booby trapped."

A chilling and jarring scream was heard from the back of the building. With the main door still ajar, the three policemen seemed to hear it from two different places at once and it filled them with dread.

"Jackson!" Brackenreid snapped, cradling the now barely conscious Higgins. "Go!"

To Brackenreid's thinking, Gillies had indeed proved in those few brief moments that he had expected the arrival of the Toronto Constabulary and more than that, he had laid traps for them. As an engineer, he was, of course, more than capable, but somehow it had not occurred to any of them just what could be awaiting them.

"Inspector!"

Brackenreid looked up sharply at the familiar voice. So grateful was he to hear it, he almost laughed with sheer joy.

"Doctor Ogden! And Doctor Grace," Brackenreid sighed with relief. "Someone is injured at the back of the building too. I heard a scream, Jackson's gone to find out. But it's too dangerous for you, there are traps everywhere."

Doctor Grace was already kneeling, tending to Higgins as Brackenreid now rose. 

"Inspector," Doctor Ogden replied almost not hearing his words. "Have you found Detective Murdoch?"  
"No, not yet, but we're certain he's here. In fact, we haven't seen anyone."  
"Inspector," Doctor Grace interrupted. "I need you to press down here, so I can remove the knife."  
"Of course," he replied, somewhat distracted as he got to his knees once more. "Show me where."

Doctor Grace indicated with hands already red with Higgins' blood and set to work as Brackenreid pressed firmly down, his fingers roughly two inches from the wound.

"The place looks empty," he continued. "No Gillies, no staff. Probably why the traps were set."  
"No, Inspector, James Gillies is here," Doctor Ogden replied stiffly.  
"James Gillies? Here? How can you be so sure?" He demanded, rising suddenly.  
"Inspector!" Doctor Grace cried. "Please, I need you to press down; he's losing blood."

Brackenreid dropped to his knees again and resumed his attendance on Constable Higgins, but he was obviously torn. Having been told that Gillies was in the building,he knew that Murdoch and possibly even Crabtree were in mortal danger.

"Doctor Ogden, take over from me here and tell me where you saw him." He asked quickly.  
"I saw him in the..."

She paused as for a fleeting moment she caught sight of a movement in the far periphery of her vision and was distracted immediately. James Gillies had rounded the stairs at the far end of the corridor and had fled from view.

"William!"

Bending down, Dr Ogden scooped up Higgins' fallen gun and gathering her skirt in her left hand, set off quickly after him.

"Doctor!" Brackenreid shouted, torn between stopping her and moving again from Higgins' side. "Doctor Grace?"  
"I'm sorry, Inspector, I'm not finished," she replied. "If you let go, I don't think he'll survive."  
"Jackson!" He yelled, desperate to get assistance to enable him to follow Gillies. "Jackson! Get back here!"

*

Murdoch looked up sharply as the cellar door opened, revealing James Gillies at the top of the stairs. 

"Well, well," Gillies slowly descended the stairs and found himself laughing, despite the tenseness of the situation. "Aren't you the resourceful pair?"

Murdoch glanced toward Crabtree, in his hurry to fetch the lock picking kit he had yet to untie his ankles, neither had they managed to release both manacles from around Murdoch's wrists. Still attached to the wall by one iron clasp, Murdoch was in almost as bad a position as earlier.

"You've been found out, Gillies, the police are here," Murdoch tried to reason with him having clearly heard Inspector Brackenreid shouting upstairs. "You have nothing left but to give yourself up."  
"Oh, but that's not true, detective, as I'm certain you realise." Slowly, almost with disregard for what was happening upstairs, Gillies checked the bullet chamber of his revolver. "You see, the entrance to this cellar is hidden, I doubt anyone will find it and certainly not in time to save you. You see, Detective, what you either forget or are trying hard not to mention is that if I am caught I will hang. I am an escaped convicted murderer, what's one more? Or," he laughed, "actually, several more."  
"What do you mean?" Murdoch questioned hesitantly.  
"I knew they would work it out eventually. Either that, or they'd simply run out of possibilities and come hopeful for answers."  
"And?" Murdoch pressed.  
"I set traps," Gillies grinned. "Or rather, my father did. I am unfortunately somewhat incapacitated. Someone will have received a knife to the heart, another electrocuted. There are more traps, but I won't bore you with the details. Needless to say, your rescue will be somewhat halted by ever diminishing numbers of those who have come to find you."

Murdoch pulled on the remaining chain, infuriated by Gillies' smugness and lack of remorse.

"But now, to you, Detective, or rather first, your lapdog. I owe him a bullet and I trust that this time he's not wearing your bullet resistant vest. So ingenious. I knew then that I had met someone very close to my match. It has taken some time, but I believe I am about to take my revenge." 

Drawing the gun from his pocket, Gillies aimed it at Crabtree, who could only stare in shock and disbelief in return.

"Gillies! No!" Murdoch cried moments before he pulled the trigger. "George!"

Crabtree spun from the force of the bullet, landing face down and unmoving, a small pool of blood expanding slowly across the floor beneath him. Straining on the chain, Murdoch tried to move to his side only to find him just out of reach. 

"George!" He cried again with no response.

As he looked up, he could see Gillies advancing towards him with a slow, purposeful step.

"You know, Detective, I really wanted your death to be a flamboyant affair. One that I could truly enjoy. Some sort of dramatic yet excruciating death. It's the least you deserve for the inconvenience you've caused me, although admittedly, you were always very entertaining. But, I can see that even your colleagues might, amongst them, summon up the intelligence to work out where I am..."

Gillies frowned as Murdoch glanced yet again at Crabtree, lying unmoving only yards away from him.

"Detective, this is your death we are discussing, the very least you could do is pay attention! Are you not interested in how you're going to die?"  
"Gillies," Murdoch sighed. "You're not worthy of any attention. You're a common murderer with delusions of grandeur, nothing more. Constable Crabtree has my attention because he is more important than you in every conceivable way."

Rushing forward in a blind fury, Gillies slid to his knees at Murdoch's side and pushed the barrel of the gun painfully under the detective's jaw, forcing his head back against the wall.

"Perhaps now I have your full attention?" Gillies growled, livid at the insult to his pride and ego.

*

Doctor Ogden raced down the hallway in pursuit of the direction in which she had seen James Gillies run. Even as she turned the corner, she knew that she had no real plan. What would she do if she saw him? She was strong, yes, so much so, she often astounded even Detective Murdoch, who, like her, was forward thinking for the period. He was familiar with her stubborn streak and her refusal to accept that women were weak, silly creatures, but even he was frequently surprised by some of her more progressive actions or statements. What would he think of this, she wondered. Roaming the hallways of the house, searching for a killer, desperate to save the one true love of her life. 

But she had reached an impasse. She had distinctly heard a door close, but none of the rooms she had looked in had any occupants, let alone Gillies. Looking around, she frantically searched for any clue as to where he may have gone. Finally, her eyes settled on a blood stain on the dado rail. Large enough to be a smudged palm print, she realised that something must be in the vicinity; a hidden door perhaps. Approaching the wall, she scanned the area for something, anything that might reveal a secret entrance. It seemed an age had passed, her eyes skimming the walls, floor and ceiling for some clue. It was then she noticed something strange. A light switch. In itself, not a strange item to see on the wall of so grand a house, but it's location in the middle of a corridor seemed out of place. Flipping the switch, she breathed a sigh as a section of the wall clicked open to reveal a door behind.

*

"If you're going to kill me, do it. You want me to beg for mercy? You'll wait a long time, Gillies, I promise you."  
"Ah, the brave detective," Gillies laughed again. "No, I don't expect you to beg detective, I'm just savouring the moment. I've wanted this for so long and it's such a shame; you do actually deserve something far more dramatic than this."  
"You mean you need an audience?" Murdoch raised an eyebrow as he spoke, despite the extreme discomfort of the gun pushed firmly into his neck.  
"Ah!" Gillies grinned. "How well you know me. I'm almost sorry to finish this, you were a worthy opponent."

As Gillies smile faded, his finger stood poised on the trigger, the door to the cellar flew open revealing Doctor Ogden, breathless, her adrenaline rushing at the sight of her twice would-be killer.

"Julia!" Murdoch cried, at once astonished and scared for her safety.  
"Well, well," Gillies' grin returned. "Maybe it is about to get dramatic after all?"


	12. Will Gillies take his final revenge?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia has found Gillies and Murdoch, but what now?

"Julia, please, go back, he'll kill you too!" Murdoch pleaded, his eyes switching frantically between Doctor Ogden's pale, nervous expression and Gillies' arrogant smirk. "Julia!"

She seemed frozen to the spot as Gillies stared up at her, smiling triumphantly. All the fear she had felt on being buried alive and again when she had been imprisoned awaiting the noose flooded back to the forefront of her mind and, quite involuntarily, she found her throat tightening and her breathing coming to her in shallow bursts.

"No, my dear Doctor Ogden," Gillies spoke slowly as he forced the gun a little harder into Murdoch's neck casing him to grimace as the still painful gash on the back of his head was forced sharply back against the wall once more. "Why don't you come closer? Witness your beloved detective's death at first hand. It will be all the sweeter for me to see your pretty face collapse at the sight of his oh so capable brain coating the wall." 

She wasn't certain if it was the unspeakable malice of the idea, or that her need to protect Murdoch was greater than her own fear of Gillies. Perhaps it was a combination of both, but just as she had collected herself after the earlier sighting, she did so again. Slowly descending the stairs, ignoring Murdoch's anxious appeals to her.

"Julia, please," he cried. "Go back! Get out of here!"  
"Never mind, Detective, she would never have obeyed you, even if you married," Gillies chuckled. "Which, of course, won't happen now, but then, you will get to die together."

Doctor Ogden continued to walk down the steps, barely taking her eyes off Gillies the entire way down.

"William," she began, not glancing away from Gillies for a moment, "are you all right?"  
"I'm..." 

Murdoch was at a loss. What could he say? That he was fine? Crabtree lay off to his right, he had no idea if he was alive or dead. He himself, still fastened to the wall by his right arm, was pinned, unable to move, by the pistol in Gillies' left hand pressing deeply into his neck and the woman he loved with all his heart was walking knowingly to certain death. 

"Julia please go back!" He begged again. "He's already killed two," he frowned deeply as he glanced briefly at Crabtree, "possibly three."

Now at the foot of the stairs, Dr Ogden could see the men Murdoch was referring to. One lying nearby and the other lay close to Murdoch; both appeared to have been shot. She caught her breath as she spotted Crabtree's prone body. Despite the obvious dangers, she began to step closer to the pair situated against the long cellar wall opposite the staircase.

"I have to say, I understand now," Gillies nodded. "It's not just her beauty then? She's brave too. That's why you would... will give your life for hers." Gillies paused, looking back and forth between the two. "I asked you a question, Murdoch. My last experiment worked. You were prepared to give your life for her, but I'll admit, I still don't understand why."  
"And you never will understand, Gillies. Your mind simply doesn't function on that level," Murdoch snapped.

Gillies turned to offer Murdoch a beaming smile, before snatching the lock picking tools and throwing them aside.

"Then maybe I should find out?" He laughed pushing himself quickly backwards and rising in some discomfort to his feet, his right shoulder clearly troubling him. 

Doctor Ogden recoiled slightly as he headed towards her, his gun raised stiffly but menacingly now in his right hand as he began to unbutton his shirt with his left.

"Murdoch, you may recall I told you that I would make you give me the whereabouts of my mother and sister before you died. This seems a perfect way to force you to tell me. Doctor Ogden, I'm sure I can discover how much the detective loves you and perhaps even why." 

Murdoch's eyes opened wide with horror as he suddenly realised Gillies' intent. Scrambling forward, trying to block out the pain from the long hours of immobility, Murdoch found himself at full stretch, the manacle biting and scraping against the flesh of his right wrist. His left arm extending to its maximum, his fingers clawing at the air only inches from where Gillies stood, his left hand caressing Doctor Ogden's cheek.

"No!" Murdoch yelled. "Gillies, stop! Don't... Don't hurt her."

Gillies laughed mockingly, before turning to look at Murdoch. 

"Oh, how easily you give in," Gillies rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You're no fun any more. You're far too predictable. Maybe I should just kill you now?"

*

"Inspector!" Jackson almost skidded to a halt in the hallway. "How's Higgins, sir?"  
"Doctor?" Brackenreid asked, wanting to know himself.  
"He's lost a substantial amount of blood," she replied, "but no arteries were cut. I think he'll be fine with rest."

Brackenreid sighed with relief. Higgins had saved his life, it would have been too cruel if he had lost his own in the process.

"The Chief Constable? Jenkins? Price?" Brackenreid asked hurriedly.  
"Sir," Jackson lowered his eyes. "Jenkins is dead. Price is badly injured, sir. The Chief Constable is tending to him as best he can. The door sir, it was electrified."

At that moment, Chief Constable Giles appeared in the doorway, his face grim and ashen.

"Brackenreid, I'm afraid you can add two more murders to Gillies' crimes."  
"Price?" Jackson spoke softly. "But he's just had twins."  
"Jackson," Brackenreid tried hard to shake the grief from his tone, but it was obvious to all present. "Assist Doctor Grace. Sir, Doctor Ogden believes she saw James Gillies and went after him. We have to find her. I believe she's in mortal danger and Murdoch too."  
"Of course."   
"Have you any news of Constable Crabtree?" Doctor Grace asked quietly as she looked up hopefully.  
"Not yet, Doctor, but I'm sure..." Brackenreid began only to be cut off by the slightly muffled sound of a gun shot. "Sir!"

Keeping a careful watch for more trip wires and traps, Brackenreid and Giles ran towards the source of the sound only to pull up sharp as they reached the corridor containing the secret panel. It had long since closed automatically and was well hidden from view.

"Murdoch?" Brackenreid yelled. "Doctor Ogden? Murdoch!"

*

It had all happened in slow motion and yet everything was a blur in his eyes. The last thing Murdoch remembered was Gillies swinging around to face him, his gun now held in his left hand, his arm extended in his direction. It would be the end, or at the very least a lingering painful death by exsanguination. By instinct he closed his eyes tightly and looked away. When the shot came, it was a few moments before he realised that he wasn't hurt. Had he missed? The gun was in his left hand, after all. Slowly, uncertainly opening his eyes, he saw James Gillies crumpling slowly to the floor, the gun slipping from his limp grasp. Trembling and pale, Doctor Ogden held a still smoking standard issue police revolver, her dress, hands and, to some extent, her face covered in a spray of blood.

"Julia?" Murdoch whispered tentatively. "Julia? Are you all right?"

Slowly she turned unseeing eyes toward Detective Murdoch as she continued to tremble, tears slowly forming and welling in her eyes, as if springing to wash the blood from her cheeks. Turning her eyes once more, she looked at Gillies, lying on the floor, still breathing, but deeply unconscious from the severity of the overwhelming pain of the point blank shot.

"Julia?" Murdoch spoke again, this time his voice more urgent than before.

Doctor Ogden took in a deep breath as if she had suddenly awakened with a start from a terrible nightmare. Staring at the gun in her bloodied hands, she seemed suddenly to shake out of her trance into the present. Turning quickly, she ran immediately to Murdoch's side, throwing her arms around him, burying her now tear-stained face in his chest.

"Oh, William!" She breathed, sobbing with a variety of emotions ranging from relief and exhaustion to a release of fear and, to her surprise, even some guilt.  
"It's all right," he replied quietly, scarcely believing it himself as he placed his free arm comfortingly across her back, pulling her closer.

Lost in the warmth of her scent, and hearing only the gentle sobs of relief of the woman in his arms, Murdoch didn't hear Brackenreid's persistent shouts. It was only when he heard a faint groan off to his right that his attention was drawn away. Realising that Gillies' gun still lay near his hand, Murdoch looked up alarmed at the possibility that he may be waking already, but his apprehension turned to sheer joy as he realised that the source of the sound was Constable Crabtree.

"Julia!" He ran his fingers down her cheek gently. "George is alive!"

Raising her head, Doctor Ogden turned bleary tear-filled eyes toward Crabtree. Turning briefly back as she realised she couldn't clear her vision with blood-stained hands. Already, Murdoch held a clean white handkerchief in his left hand bringing a laugh to her lips.

"Really, William, your jacket is over there. How many handkerchiefs do you carry?"  
"I will always have one on hand should you need it," he smiled. "Now, please, if you could pass me my lock picking tools, I can free myself while you tend to George."  
"Of course, William," she smiled as she wiped the few spots of blood from her cheeks and as much as she could manage from her hands.

Examining Crabtree while Murdoch freed himself from the manacle, Doctor Ogden sighed with relief to see that the gunshot wound was superficial and that he had merely aggravated an earlier blow to his head in the fall, knocking himself unconscious. Ironically, it had probably saved his life as Gillies had believed him to be either already dead or at the very least, to be dying.

"Doctor Ogden?" Crabtree said as he came to fully. "Detective Murdoch?"  
"I'm fine, George," he responded, slowly pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.  
"Gillies?" Crabtree asked.  
"Shortly to hang for all his crimes," Murdoch promised, his tone edged with bitterness.

Steadying himself against the wall, Murdoch felt like he had the walking ability of a newborn deer. With an expression of concern for the sheer logistics, he looked over at the stairs and wondered how all four of them would manage to get out of the cellar with two incapacitated and himself still weak and unsteady on his feet. The question was answered almost immediately as the door opened revealing Inspector Brackenreid and Chief Constable Giles.

"Murdoch!" Brackenreid called, relieved to see everyone alive, if not well. "We heard a gunshot."  
"Sir," Murdoch nodded. "Doctor Ogden shot Gillies. She saved our lives."  
"Is he dead?" Part of Brackenreid couldn't help but hope that the answer was yes, but for Doctor Ogden's sake, he was relieved to hear that she had merely shot another bullet into his existing shoulder injury. "Well done, Doctor, that was very brave of you."  
"Or very reckless," Giles commented.  
"With respect, sir, if it wasn't for Doctor Ogden, I would very likely have two more dead officers. Don't you think we've had enough?"  
"Point taken, Brackenreid. My apologies, Doctor. Your actions were certainly brave, but I was concerned for your safety. This is no job for a woman."  
"I was frequently told the same about pathology, Chief Constable Giles and yet I am more than capable," she countered, tired of the constant well-intentioned but insulting remarks.  
"Indeed, Doctor," he frowned. "Once again, my apologies."  
"Right then," Brackenreid scowled. "Let's get this toe rag behind bars where he belongs."

Lifting Gillies' right arm Brackenreid smirked as he woke screaming with pain. Giles frowned his disapproval but said nothing.

"Come on you little bastard, I've got a cell waiting for you."  
"Can't you see I've been shot, you imbecile?" Gillies pitch had raised somewhat in his agony.  
"Shot you say?" Brackenreid laughed as he twisted Gillies arm up his back, the younger man's legs almost giving way as he did so. "No, can't say I'd noticed."  
"Sir?" Murdoch began with a frown.  
"Get to the hospital, Murdoch. All of you, Higgins is probably already on the way."  
"Higgins, sir?" Murdoch raised his eyebrows. "You said that someone was dead... It's..."  
"Not Higgins, but it was close. Doctor Grace saw to him."  
"Emily's here?" Crabtree asked, still a little woozy from the blows.  
"Hospital, now, all of you! I'll brief you later, Murdoch, but for now get yourself looked at." He offered a good-hearted smirk. "I want you fit for work tomorrow."  
"Sir," Murdoch nodded, then wished he hadn't. 

It seemed that Gillies had attacked half of Station House Four. There would be quite a reunion at the hospital.

"Don't think I've finished with you, Detective Murdoch," Gillies shouted, turning his head as he was pulled away.  
"Really, Mr Gillies?" Murdoch raised an eyebrow. "Your father is dead at your own hands. There is no one to help you escape now. You are shortly to hang and I will be there to see it."  
Gillies smirked menacingly. "I'm counting on it, Detective. Trust me, I'm counting on it."

Watching intently as he was dragged away, Murdoch couldn't help but wonder on his threat. Was there indeed someone else helping him? Could he escape again? Was there meaning in the comment that Gillies was expecting Murdoch to be present at his hanging?

He cast a reassuring glance toward Doctor Ogden; was she thinking the same thing? He wasn't going to ask; he would only risk upsetting her, especially if she heard the uncertainty in his own voice.

But, for now they were safe and he would make it his business to see they remained so. Walking over to where the pair stood, softening his brow as he did, he smiled at Dr Ogden and Crabtree.

"The hospital?"

Crabtree gave a crooked smile in return, obviously keen to see Dr Grace and let her know he was well. Walking slowly toward the stairs, Crabtree used the bannister to lean on as he ascended. Turning half way up, Crabtree was about to ask a question but closed his mouth as he saw Murdoch and Dr Ogden, their lips pressed together in a deep yet tender embrace. He smiled to himself; it could wait.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovely readers!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story! I had fun writing it :)   
> If you did like it, why not drop a comment and say hi. Would love to hear from you.   
> Sas xx


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